Yellow Submarine
It was in the spring of 1974. Vietnam was winding down and the cold war was raging hot.
We had just arrived in Rota Spain the Ft. Lauderdale of Europe, for refit and deployment.
We were tied up along side the pier with the only Spanish Aircraft carrier tied up in front of us. On the other side of the pier was another one of the "Fighting Forty-One".
Crew turnover had occurred three days or so ago and as a member of the seaman gang I was plenty busy with the dirty work associated with that crappy job.
We had been chipping paint preparing for an all above the surface paint job. At 18:00 liberty went down for the off going duty section. That was me and most of the seasoned seaman gang. We headed into Cadiz where we proceeded to do the traditional image of American sailors proud. After consuming an adequate quantity of sangria and calamari we returned to the base.
The pier at the Rota installation is a rather wide girl and is supported by creosote soaked pilings. The tide was out and the boat sat low along side the monstrous pier.
We had been using a small dingy to chip paint on the sides of the superstructure and the rudder and it was tied off near the turtleback. On the deck was a pallet with many of the five gallon cans of the flat black, non-skid black paint and intensely yellow zinc chromate primer we would be using to paint the beast. As drunk as we were I was surprised to hear QM3(ss) Jon Honnaker wonder out loud "I wonder what a Yellow Submarine really looks like".
Looking at each other the idea seemed to take off. It was late around mid-night. We loaded up the dingy with three cans of the beautifully yellow zinc chromate paint, several rollers and long poles.
Before we got started we discussed the consequences of such a gesture and figured the worst that could happen is that they'd make us paint the boat. Since that was our job any way we figured 'what the hell'. Then it occurred to us that it might be perceived as though we were sucking up, you know, working through the night on our liberty and all.
So the only thing left to do was to paint the 'Lost and Confused' (Lewis and Clark) on the opposite side of the pier.
A stroke of pure genius.
As we congratulated ourselves on this breakthrough development we maneuvered the dingy under the pier by grabbing the pilings and pulling ourselves closer to the West side of the pier. As we got closer we paid attention to where the Topside Watch and the Topside Sentry were... no where in site. The brow was in front of the sail.
We began at the rudder and when we had completed it without being discovered we quickly moved to the turtleback. We worked furiously and before long we had painted our way all the way up to the AMR1 hatch.
About that time the Topside Sentry was making his rounds and saw us painting. We were all in civvies and he asked in a concerned voice "what the heck we were doing". We told him the COB caught us goofing off this afternoon and assigned us to 'paint detail tonight'. Even though it was our liberty night. So, we told him, we went to town and had few and then came back to take our punishment. He laughed and went back forward.
What a mullet.
Now we were really pressing our luck. We painted as fast as we could and got some where in the middle of the missile deck when we heard some loud talking and the name of the XO of the L&C being called out. Like mad men we headed back to the stern and loaded up all of our gear and shoved off. Somewhere under the pier we heard an awful yell, we knew we had hit the big time. We arrived back at the Simon B. in short order and tied off the dingy. Hauled ourselves down to bed.
Unknown to us the Lewis & Clark was expected to deploy for patrol the next day. We had started a chain of events that we could not have predicted if we had tried.
The XO of the L&C immediately mustered a counter offensive force. They did something I never would have believed next. The four of them crossed our brow and over powered our armed Topside watch standers and taped them up with EB green. Three proceeded down the control room hatch one watched for the below decks watch while the other two went forward to the CO/XO staterooms. (The fourth stood topside and made 1MC announcements.)
Where they proceeded to take just one of the wheels off of the XO's chair and pulled the wash basin out of the wall in the CO's stateroom. And boogied out with the booty in the CO's pillow case.
Once the topside watches were freed by returning crew members a 'security violation' ensued. Of course we found no ship board intruders and we went back to the rack.
In the morning the L & C was gone and our CO was beside himself with anger. After all, this was a MAJOR breach of national security with the over powering of the Topside watch standers where nuc's were in custody. But with no one to be held accountable he was forced to live with the consequences and we went on patrol with a piece of wood screwed to the leg of the XO's chair and he was forced to give the CO his wash basin and he had to use the one in the CO/XO head.
We never talked about the events of that day again unless we were somewhere where we were certain no officers could over hear. But we did hear the CO laughing about it some weeks later saying he wished he could have seen the Yellow Submarine...
and that's a no shitter...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
See biscut
While this is 100% true, it didn't happen at sea. As a matter of fact, it happened in Holy Lock Scotland while the Boat was tied up along side the barge that was between the Tender and the floating dry dock.
It was early, 04:30 approximately, the first liberty launch back to the tender was that early for the tenders cooks and mess crew that either were 'lucky' enough to live in nearby Dunnoon, or like me, were trying to make it back to the Boat before quarters at 06:00 after a painfully successful night of debauchery and general drunkenness lest I be on report for being AWOL. It was, for Scotland, a beautiful November night. Nasty wind, cold as hell and rain and snow mix made for a picture perfect day ahead. So, I was inside the liberty shed at the end of the fairly long pier where they had some heat. Benches lined the walls and I was the sole person at the time. Which was good because I was in a bit of a state of pain. Eyes closed and dreading every sound, waiting to hear the liberty launch pull up to the pier... As I lay there in pain I hear the door open and in come two Marines who apparently hadn't even slowed their progress toward a disabling drunk an hour before, dressed in civvies and staggeringly drunk. They bounced off of every wall and opened the door with what sounded like a small explosive charge. Without opening my eyes I checked my own melon for exterior cranial damage as they proceeded to let the world in on their desperate crushing need of a urinal. Similarly a twinge to do the same came upon me, but knowing the state of these two, I chose to wait, even if it meant waiting until I was back on board. If there is one thing a sailor learns early in his obligation, it's that sailors and marines don't mix. As they entered the head their loud and obnoxious voices continued the predictable pattern. Then I heard one of them speak in a some what more hushed tone, he was aobut to disclose a secret, I thought. My attention piqued and my ears began to hear the unmistakable sounds of the high pressure flow of urine as it attempted to chisel away at porcelain... and finally the question: " what will you give me if I take a bite out of this urinal cake?" The first thing out of my mouth was 'a mental exam', but I wasn't (thankfully) heard. The other marine laughed a bit and muttered an unintelligible sound. And then a loud Yuck! As they both departed the shack. I opend my eyes and looked around to see if maybe some one else had heard and maybe seen the deed. No one. My curiosity no in over drive, I had to make the trip in to the head now for two good reasons. As I approached the urinal I saw the unmistakable mouth shaped bite in a fairly well worn urinal cake! I began to look around the floor for the piece missing but it wasn't to be seen. When I went out side only seconds later the launch was loading and I couldn't tell who was who at that point. But ever since then, I can't eat cake that early in the morning.
It was early, 04:30 approximately, the first liberty launch back to the tender was that early for the tenders cooks and mess crew that either were 'lucky' enough to live in nearby Dunnoon, or like me, were trying to make it back to the Boat before quarters at 06:00 after a painfully successful night of debauchery and general drunkenness lest I be on report for being AWOL. It was, for Scotland, a beautiful November night. Nasty wind, cold as hell and rain and snow mix made for a picture perfect day ahead. So, I was inside the liberty shed at the end of the fairly long pier where they had some heat. Benches lined the walls and I was the sole person at the time. Which was good because I was in a bit of a state of pain. Eyes closed and dreading every sound, waiting to hear the liberty launch pull up to the pier... As I lay there in pain I hear the door open and in come two Marines who apparently hadn't even slowed their progress toward a disabling drunk an hour before, dressed in civvies and staggeringly drunk. They bounced off of every wall and opened the door with what sounded like a small explosive charge. Without opening my eyes I checked my own melon for exterior cranial damage as they proceeded to let the world in on their desperate crushing need of a urinal. Similarly a twinge to do the same came upon me, but knowing the state of these two, I chose to wait, even if it meant waiting until I was back on board. If there is one thing a sailor learns early in his obligation, it's that sailors and marines don't mix. As they entered the head their loud and obnoxious voices continued the predictable pattern. Then I heard one of them speak in a some what more hushed tone, he was aobut to disclose a secret, I thought. My attention piqued and my ears began to hear the unmistakable sounds of the high pressure flow of urine as it attempted to chisel away at porcelain... and finally the question: " what will you give me if I take a bite out of this urinal cake?" The first thing out of my mouth was 'a mental exam', but I wasn't (thankfully) heard. The other marine laughed a bit and muttered an unintelligible sound. And then a loud Yuck! As they both departed the shack. I opend my eyes and looked around to see if maybe some one else had heard and maybe seen the deed. No one. My curiosity no in over drive, I had to make the trip in to the head now for two good reasons. As I approached the urinal I saw the unmistakable mouth shaped bite in a fairly well worn urinal cake! I began to look around the floor for the piece missing but it wasn't to be seen. When I went out side only seconds later the launch was loading and I couldn't tell who was who at that point. But ever since then, I can't eat cake that early in the morning.
What’s a Screamer?
What’s a Screamer?
At Sea on patrol in the med can be very boring. And in fact it was on several patrols I made from Rota Spain back in the early '70's. The med being relatively small with considerable surface traffic, not to mention submarine traffic, is not the most forgiving place to make a mistake. Dozens of surface contacts are encountered and tracked everyday. By the end of patrol many hundreds or even thousands of surface contacts have been logged tracked identified and maybe even had the opportunity to be visually identified. We had been at sea for some six weeks and patrol routine was the only comfort in the minds of most of the crew. It was after the evening meal and the movie was in the middle of the second reel in the crews mess. The crew making its usual comments and laughing during the movie. There was a lull in the action and one of the Nukes asked "what is that noise?" Most of us couldn't hear it. A few moments pass and again he asks "don't you hear that?" The projector was stopped and we all listened... above the noise of the ventilation system and the fan room outside the mess... then there it was... a steady rhythmic thump thump thump."Oh SHIT!" He yelled. Everyone ran to their battle stations as fast as we could... seconds later the collision alarm went off. The entire boat shook violently, we never actually collided but the vibrations from the screw were very strong, the noise was surprising and then... nothing... As we secured from battle stations we all looked at each other and several of us went up to sonar to comfort the deaf sonar technician that almost killed the entire crew single handedly. He was in the process of being relieved under orders of the OOD. It wasn't long and we were back into the routine of patrol. Finally, the only watch everyone looks forward to at sea, the maneuvering watch, was set. In Rota Spain, the maneuvering watch is very short. As we all ran topside to get her rigged someone noticed a peculiar pattern of markings on the missile deck running at an acute angle to the fore-aft axis. About three inches wide at its widest and about three feet long with a spacing between them of several inches. The paint had been removed right down to the metal! The only thing we could figure was... you guessed it, that screamer was A LOT closer than we had originally thought!! Despite the time crunch three of us took a moment and thanked God for seeing his way clear to look out for a bunch of sailors in a hole in the ocean.
At Sea on patrol in the med can be very boring. And in fact it was on several patrols I made from Rota Spain back in the early '70's. The med being relatively small with considerable surface traffic, not to mention submarine traffic, is not the most forgiving place to make a mistake. Dozens of surface contacts are encountered and tracked everyday. By the end of patrol many hundreds or even thousands of surface contacts have been logged tracked identified and maybe even had the opportunity to be visually identified. We had been at sea for some six weeks and patrol routine was the only comfort in the minds of most of the crew. It was after the evening meal and the movie was in the middle of the second reel in the crews mess. The crew making its usual comments and laughing during the movie. There was a lull in the action and one of the Nukes asked "what is that noise?" Most of us couldn't hear it. A few moments pass and again he asks "don't you hear that?" The projector was stopped and we all listened... above the noise of the ventilation system and the fan room outside the mess... then there it was... a steady rhythmic thump thump thump."Oh SHIT!" He yelled. Everyone ran to their battle stations as fast as we could... seconds later the collision alarm went off. The entire boat shook violently, we never actually collided but the vibrations from the screw were very strong, the noise was surprising and then... nothing... As we secured from battle stations we all looked at each other and several of us went up to sonar to comfort the deaf sonar technician that almost killed the entire crew single handedly. He was in the process of being relieved under orders of the OOD. It wasn't long and we were back into the routine of patrol. Finally, the only watch everyone looks forward to at sea, the maneuvering watch, was set. In Rota Spain, the maneuvering watch is very short. As we all ran topside to get her rigged someone noticed a peculiar pattern of markings on the missile deck running at an acute angle to the fore-aft axis. About three inches wide at its widest and about three feet long with a spacing between them of several inches. The paint had been removed right down to the metal! The only thing we could figure was... you guessed it, that screamer was A LOT closer than we had originally thought!! Despite the time crunch three of us took a moment and thanked God for seeing his way clear to look out for a bunch of sailors in a hole in the ocean.
Too crazy to be on a Submarine
Too crazy to be on a Submarine
In the classic example of a newbie being locked in a submarine for three months, an animal is born.
This was a cold war era patrol sometime in 1973/4 and it happened that the Simon B. SSBN 641B was alerted to be completely refit and leave for our patrol area with in 17 days of arrival of the Blue crew. Now, this was my first submarine assignment, my third patrol and as crews go, this was a Great Crew. We had received our compliment of new crew and completed a refit, repairs, stores top off and a mini-sea trial with much credit to the Simon Lake submarine tender crew. No small feat in itself. We took off and headed for the Med and once on site in our patrol area we settled in for the usual boring routine and drill mix.
One of our newbies was an MT3. He seemed to be an okay guy (as guys and non-qual’s go). He was UI as the missile compartment rover and doing fine. As the rover he was charged (via his UI supervisory watch) with the cognizance of the EBW keys. (Exploding Bridge Wire(s) enable the gas generators that lift the launched the missiles) He had seen the qualified rovers winging them around on their finger on a orange shot line necklace as they walked their beat.
After a particularly brutal day of battle stations missile drills this newbie was walking his beat, and beat he was. Swinging his keys and looking for all the world like a real pro. When off of his finger go the keys! Now, this is no small disaster. It boarders on a breach of national security. A break down in the first line of our nations defense against nuclear attack. They fly off his finger, not far, we are in a submarine mind you, in MCUL into a frame bay and they slide down along the hull into the bilge and stop near the base of tube 5. His mentor and the REAL responsible party for the keys gets a panicky look on his face and says "man you'd better get those keys, and don't tell anyone you lost 'em or we're swimmin' back home". Trying to get a rise of panic to show on this kids face. The poor kid is scared spit less. But to his credit he hides none of it. Down the ladder he goes into middle level and then down to LL. He starts flicking up the bilge hatches looking for the EBW keys. And talking to himself. With every hatch that opens and he finds nothing the more scared he becomes.
All the while the rover watch is in Launcher talking with the Launcher watch trying to be nonchalant. Soon it's time for his next round but no UI, and no EBW keys!! So down to LL goes the watch. He peeks around the inboard side of tube 1 and sees the mid ships deck hatch is open at tube 5 but no UI is in site. He calls out. No response. He walks over to the deck hatch and calls down, no response. He calls again, nothing. Now really starting to get concerned he steps down onto the frame to enter the bilge and he hears a barking "bark, bark" and the UI takes a bite right out of his right calf. The rover is more than a little startled and lets out a muffled scream and backs out of the 'dogs' reach. But the UI stays back in the shadows of the bilge. Growling. Now the rover begins to get desperate. He has waited long enough and the situation could get out of hand quickly if the off going OOD makes his rounds and finds out the truth about this whole situation. About this time I wander through as Auxiliary man Forward. The rover asks me to go to the galley and plead with our night cook, who was a Light Weight Golden Gloves champion from Philly before he came into the service of his country, to come right away. As requested I get the cook, Tisdale, and bring him to MCLL. The rover explains to Tisdale that this is getting serious and displays a gaping bite bleeding all over the place in his calf. Tisdale steps over to the deck hatch and yells down: "don't you make me come down and get you". No response. Dead quite. Tisdale, now a little perturbed, takes a lesson from the rover and jumps straight down into the bilge and charges the UI while we wait above deck. Quickly we hear a loud smack followed by a muffled whimper and another smack, as two rapid punches render the trainee unconscious. He drags him to the hatch and we pull him up on the deck. He has the EBW keys in his hand. Wow, that was close. Now what? About that time the off going OOD comes through on his rounds. Now the cat (so to speak) is out of the bag. The entire episode was explained away as a classic case of severe stress induced isolation anxiety.
(Of course, the Navy in it's wisdom never misses a chance to implement new 'rules' to further complicate the lives of it' members. Shotline necklaces holding SECRET/TOP SECRET Keys were just that, necklaces, not some insignificant toy to be whipped around on a finger, no sir. From that point on those necklaces were to be attached to the duty belt of the rover. Just like his night stick.)
The guy's cheese had slipped off of his cracker, with a CRASH!. He thought he was a Dog! Submarine school was supposed to weed these types out. Without facilities to house a rubber room nut case he was restrained to MCLL out reach of anything that could cause harm to himself or the ship or crew. He stayed there for several days until he could be medi-vac'd off the boat. In the mean time, many of us missed our pets so visitors were regular as clock work. We tried as hard as we could, we could never get him to do any real tricks though.
The real truth about how this whole thing happened was never explained to the wardroom due to the dire nature of the consequences. Today though, you know the rest of the story... And that, is a no shitter.
In the classic example of a newbie being locked in a submarine for three months, an animal is born.
This was a cold war era patrol sometime in 1973/4 and it happened that the Simon B. SSBN 641B was alerted to be completely refit and leave for our patrol area with in 17 days of arrival of the Blue crew. Now, this was my first submarine assignment, my third patrol and as crews go, this was a Great Crew. We had received our compliment of new crew and completed a refit, repairs, stores top off and a mini-sea trial with much credit to the Simon Lake submarine tender crew. No small feat in itself. We took off and headed for the Med and once on site in our patrol area we settled in for the usual boring routine and drill mix.
One of our newbies was an MT3. He seemed to be an okay guy (as guys and non-qual’s go). He was UI as the missile compartment rover and doing fine. As the rover he was charged (via his UI supervisory watch) with the cognizance of the EBW keys. (Exploding Bridge Wire(s) enable the gas generators that lift the launched the missiles) He had seen the qualified rovers winging them around on their finger on a orange shot line necklace as they walked their beat.
After a particularly brutal day of battle stations missile drills this newbie was walking his beat, and beat he was. Swinging his keys and looking for all the world like a real pro. When off of his finger go the keys! Now, this is no small disaster. It boarders on a breach of national security. A break down in the first line of our nations defense against nuclear attack. They fly off his finger, not far, we are in a submarine mind you, in MCUL into a frame bay and they slide down along the hull into the bilge and stop near the base of tube 5. His mentor and the REAL responsible party for the keys gets a panicky look on his face and says "man you'd better get those keys, and don't tell anyone you lost 'em or we're swimmin' back home". Trying to get a rise of panic to show on this kids face. The poor kid is scared spit less. But to his credit he hides none of it. Down the ladder he goes into middle level and then down to LL. He starts flicking up the bilge hatches looking for the EBW keys. And talking to himself. With every hatch that opens and he finds nothing the more scared he becomes.
All the while the rover watch is in Launcher talking with the Launcher watch trying to be nonchalant. Soon it's time for his next round but no UI, and no EBW keys!! So down to LL goes the watch. He peeks around the inboard side of tube 1 and sees the mid ships deck hatch is open at tube 5 but no UI is in site. He calls out. No response. He walks over to the deck hatch and calls down, no response. He calls again, nothing. Now really starting to get concerned he steps down onto the frame to enter the bilge and he hears a barking "bark, bark" and the UI takes a bite right out of his right calf. The rover is more than a little startled and lets out a muffled scream and backs out of the 'dogs' reach. But the UI stays back in the shadows of the bilge. Growling. Now the rover begins to get desperate. He has waited long enough and the situation could get out of hand quickly if the off going OOD makes his rounds and finds out the truth about this whole situation. About this time I wander through as Auxiliary man Forward. The rover asks me to go to the galley and plead with our night cook, who was a Light Weight Golden Gloves champion from Philly before he came into the service of his country, to come right away. As requested I get the cook, Tisdale, and bring him to MCLL. The rover explains to Tisdale that this is getting serious and displays a gaping bite bleeding all over the place in his calf. Tisdale steps over to the deck hatch and yells down: "don't you make me come down and get you". No response. Dead quite. Tisdale, now a little perturbed, takes a lesson from the rover and jumps straight down into the bilge and charges the UI while we wait above deck. Quickly we hear a loud smack followed by a muffled whimper and another smack, as two rapid punches render the trainee unconscious. He drags him to the hatch and we pull him up on the deck. He has the EBW keys in his hand. Wow, that was close. Now what? About that time the off going OOD comes through on his rounds. Now the cat (so to speak) is out of the bag. The entire episode was explained away as a classic case of severe stress induced isolation anxiety.
(Of course, the Navy in it's wisdom never misses a chance to implement new 'rules' to further complicate the lives of it' members. Shotline necklaces holding SECRET/TOP SECRET Keys were just that, necklaces, not some insignificant toy to be whipped around on a finger, no sir. From that point on those necklaces were to be attached to the duty belt of the rover. Just like his night stick.)
The guy's cheese had slipped off of his cracker, with a CRASH!. He thought he was a Dog! Submarine school was supposed to weed these types out. Without facilities to house a rubber room nut case he was restrained to MCLL out reach of anything that could cause harm to himself or the ship or crew. He stayed there for several days until he could be medi-vac'd off the boat. In the mean time, many of us missed our pets so visitors were regular as clock work. We tried as hard as we could, we could never get him to do any real tricks though.
The real truth about how this whole thing happened was never explained to the wardroom due to the dire nature of the consequences. Today though, you know the rest of the story... And that, is a no shitter.
The Joke that almost happened
The Joke that almost happened
You know how sometimes you can be taken by surprise by things or people you have taken for granted? Weeellll... Once upon a time in a big metal tube submerged beneath the oceans surface for seven weeks a previously assumed to be wus QM2 made a bold move to make his mark on his last patrol and remove the 'stain of the mark of the wus' before being transferred. As a QM (affectionately pronounced 'Quim')this boy soon to be 'man' had unusual access to the CO/XO staterooms and as a professional suck up enjoyed (if you can call it that)a relationship with both that was reminiscent of a good ol' boy and his errant but well intended bird dog. Free to come and go virtually un-noticed. Of course, having the CO/XO's staterooms as one of his assigned field day spaces made some difference, too. Most often when a crew member plays a practical joke on another crew member it is widely known to all except the poor unsuspecting victim. Not so this time. Summoned to the XO's stateroom I was admonished for the shoddy "repair work on the shower". The Hot water handle was missing! and the XO was in the mood for a shower. Not one to take a cold shower, as was sometimes the enlisted mans only opportunity, he ordered me to 'search for the missing handle'. I immediately began the search. Assuming that, indeed, it was a botched work assignment and the handle was in AMR#1 on the work bench. Not. I searched everywhere. I looked in the 'available spares' the whole nine yards. As I was in and out of the Control Room area in a state of mind obviously showing direction, QM2 Giesert inquired as to my present job. I blew him off the first time. But the second time I figured he had something he wanted to say. So I told him to unburden himself. With a quick discreet "follow me" we headed for OPSML and the freezer door at the bottom of the ladder. In he went. I waited. A few moments later he returned with a plastic bag and about a gallon of water frozen in the bottom and something was in it. You guessed it, the missing shower handle. He was exceedingly proud of himself and requested that I share his little secret. Always ready to enjoy another persons suffering, especially if it's of the superficial type, I conceded. I played it off as though I could not locate the missing handle. No record of work was in the tag out log and nothing in the discrepancies log. No one was aware of any work being done or pending (until this) on any potable water system that may have been confused with the CO/XO shower. As an A-Ganger I could not allow the situation to go un-remedied, and although the answer was obvious, I handed the XO a pair of vice grips. Finding no humor in my "fix" the order went out for ALL A-Gangers to report to the XO's stateroom for search detail. I started with the A-Div officer and the Chief. Sniveling officers turn into a drag real fast. And the higher the rank the faster they sour. This was no exception. The Chief came up with the answer before the entire division could be mustered outside the XO's door... Take one of the enlisted men’s shower handles. And so it was done. Despite the "good intentions" of playing a practical joke on an officer the entire thing bombed out due to improper planning. Safe in his obscurity, Quim 2/ss Giesert's first and last chance at immortality fizzled to an insignificant end.
Moral: Those never willing to accept the consequences should refrain from taking the chances
You know how sometimes you can be taken by surprise by things or people you have taken for granted? Weeellll... Once upon a time in a big metal tube submerged beneath the oceans surface for seven weeks a previously assumed to be wus QM2 made a bold move to make his mark on his last patrol and remove the 'stain of the mark of the wus' before being transferred. As a QM (affectionately pronounced 'Quim')this boy soon to be 'man' had unusual access to the CO/XO staterooms and as a professional suck up enjoyed (if you can call it that)a relationship with both that was reminiscent of a good ol' boy and his errant but well intended bird dog. Free to come and go virtually un-noticed. Of course, having the CO/XO's staterooms as one of his assigned field day spaces made some difference, too. Most often when a crew member plays a practical joke on another crew member it is widely known to all except the poor unsuspecting victim. Not so this time. Summoned to the XO's stateroom I was admonished for the shoddy "repair work on the shower". The Hot water handle was missing! and the XO was in the mood for a shower. Not one to take a cold shower, as was sometimes the enlisted mans only opportunity, he ordered me to 'search for the missing handle'. I immediately began the search. Assuming that, indeed, it was a botched work assignment and the handle was in AMR#1 on the work bench. Not. I searched everywhere. I looked in the 'available spares' the whole nine yards. As I was in and out of the Control Room area in a state of mind obviously showing direction, QM2 Giesert inquired as to my present job. I blew him off the first time. But the second time I figured he had something he wanted to say. So I told him to unburden himself. With a quick discreet "follow me" we headed for OPSML and the freezer door at the bottom of the ladder. In he went. I waited. A few moments later he returned with a plastic bag and about a gallon of water frozen in the bottom and something was in it. You guessed it, the missing shower handle. He was exceedingly proud of himself and requested that I share his little secret. Always ready to enjoy another persons suffering, especially if it's of the superficial type, I conceded. I played it off as though I could not locate the missing handle. No record of work was in the tag out log and nothing in the discrepancies log. No one was aware of any work being done or pending (until this) on any potable water system that may have been confused with the CO/XO shower. As an A-Ganger I could not allow the situation to go un-remedied, and although the answer was obvious, I handed the XO a pair of vice grips. Finding no humor in my "fix" the order went out for ALL A-Gangers to report to the XO's stateroom for search detail. I started with the A-Div officer and the Chief. Sniveling officers turn into a drag real fast. And the higher the rank the faster they sour. This was no exception. The Chief came up with the answer before the entire division could be mustered outside the XO's door... Take one of the enlisted men’s shower handles. And so it was done. Despite the "good intentions" of playing a practical joke on an officer the entire thing bombed out due to improper planning. Safe in his obscurity, Quim 2/ss Giesert's first and last chance at immortality fizzled to an insignificant end.
Moral: Those never willing to accept the consequences should refrain from taking the chances
The FM …Slide….
The FM …Slide….
Back in the mid ‘70’s was a good time for many of the original Fighting 41 for Freedom. SOP was being reevaluated and in some instances it was liberalized. I don’t think Adm. Zummwalt had anything to do with it. Or did Adm. Rickover. So, appropriate thanks to those responsible were never doled out by me personally.
However, as our home port at the time was that jewel of the south of Europe, Rota Spain, and was being changed to Charleston South Carolina, the crew, as Mike Tyson would say, was ‘estatic’ to be making the move.
In the anticipation of the return to Charleston our Atlantic Fleet commander authorized some ‘special’ duty ops. to help keep us motivated.
We were ordered to report to Cape Canaveral, Coca Beach Florida for daily ops with a Destroyer being outfitted with “special submarine busting sonar”. Like there ever was such a thing.
The sonar, called the FM slide, sent up to fifteen separate sonar pulses out at close to the same time. Virtually blanketing the undersea area with sonar pulses. It was cool to look at. But I digress.
Since these were considered ‘day ops’ thirty percent of the crew was allowed to remain behind on the beach on deployment every morning.
We began on the first day at a known starting point (known to the destroyer) and depth. The Destroyer (target) was allowed to acquire contact via sonar and then we were to progress through a previously designated course at a pre determined speed. That way even if for some unknown reason contact was lost, if one had a stop watch and the map you could plot exactly where we should be at any given time. The underwater phone was used to start the event.
By most accounts this was an exercise dreamed up in skimmer heaven. “We’ll show those Sub sailors who’s the target”, I could just hear them saying.
Before we had gone to the second turn they were heading in the opposite direction.
We followed our designated course and completed at the exact time and point we were expected to.
That night a pow-wow was had by the combined wardrooms and everyone agreed that a better effort could be managed the next day.
The next day the plan was to allow the Sub to begin directly under the surface craft. Once the surface craft had acquired contact we were to move out and follow a pre designated course known only to the Submarine instead of both. I guess the thinking was that possibly the surface craft quartermaster and helmsman crew couldn’t navigate, and that was okay for reasons sound enough for a navy that floats on water. Obviously, those reasons were unsound when applied to a submerged navy already sunk.
As the exercise matured it was again clear that the surface craft was outside of its ‘comfort zone’. Unable to navigate a course that mirrored a submerged contact and remain temporarily undetected in it’s baffles is, one would believe, a woeful position for a combat ship to be in. Just the same, they proudly displayed the Battle Efficiency “E” with several hash marks on their stack.
That night on the return of both vessels to the pier yet another command conference was assembled and a post mortem of the days events conducted.
Finally, after more than a week of day ops and several FM slide tune ups an opportunity for the C.O. to shine was presented.
The final day we began on the surface immediately in front of the Destroyer. They had us dead to rights on their sonar. Duh.
We dove the ship and with in 10 minutes we were alone once again. The C.O. was a little miffed. This was a giant waste of time, money and effort. These guys couldn’t find their ass with both hands.
It was time for a little lesson in humility. We began by getting in their baffles at time Zulu + 00:13. We remained there all day taking time to come to periscope depth often taking pictures and getting in some fire control practice at the same time. At the end of the time allotted for the exercise we were required to disclose our location. Since we were directly astern of the destroyer we moved to their starboard at a range of about 70 yards and directly on their beam with the attack scope sticking out of the water about 12 feet. Since a surface craft operates with their radar going all of the time we figured we had about two minutes before we were detected by the radar or by the lookout. As we moved along at 4 knots, the surface craft called out on the UQC (underwater phone) for us to show ourselves.
Not wanting to quit without making a statement our C.O. said “raise the #2 scope”. Every one knew this would more than double the radar signature as the #2 scope fairing was huge and we virtually felt we were had.
But, surprise! No notice. Now the C.O. was really irked. “Raise the radar mast”… nothing. “Raise the …16 mast”… nothing. “Raise the snorkel mast”. Nothing. “Broach the ship!” Nothing. Remember we were only 70 to 100 yards off the starboard beam. I could clearly see our counter part using low power on #2 scope and couldn’t believe we were undetected.
The C.O. went to the bridge. From there he ordered a green smoke loaded and fired on his mark from the signal ejector. The smoke crossed the bow of the destroyer only seconds after they saw us.
Granted, there were obviously some extenuating circumstances in the example sited above. But given that and what we already know about submarine operations and stealth it can only be a good thing that the last true naval war was WWII and that 52% of all tonnage sunk in that terrible conflict was sunk by 2% of the fleet. Those incredibly brave men in the sinking machines.
Back in the mid ‘70’s was a good time for many of the original Fighting 41 for Freedom. SOP was being reevaluated and in some instances it was liberalized. I don’t think Adm. Zummwalt had anything to do with it. Or did Adm. Rickover. So, appropriate thanks to those responsible were never doled out by me personally.
However, as our home port at the time was that jewel of the south of Europe, Rota Spain, and was being changed to Charleston South Carolina, the crew, as Mike Tyson would say, was ‘estatic’ to be making the move.
In the anticipation of the return to Charleston our Atlantic Fleet commander authorized some ‘special’ duty ops. to help keep us motivated.
We were ordered to report to Cape Canaveral, Coca Beach Florida for daily ops with a Destroyer being outfitted with “special submarine busting sonar”. Like there ever was such a thing.
The sonar, called the FM slide, sent up to fifteen separate sonar pulses out at close to the same time. Virtually blanketing the undersea area with sonar pulses. It was cool to look at. But I digress.
Since these were considered ‘day ops’ thirty percent of the crew was allowed to remain behind on the beach on deployment every morning.
We began on the first day at a known starting point (known to the destroyer) and depth. The Destroyer (target) was allowed to acquire contact via sonar and then we were to progress through a previously designated course at a pre determined speed. That way even if for some unknown reason contact was lost, if one had a stop watch and the map you could plot exactly where we should be at any given time. The underwater phone was used to start the event.
By most accounts this was an exercise dreamed up in skimmer heaven. “We’ll show those Sub sailors who’s the target”, I could just hear them saying.
Before we had gone to the second turn they were heading in the opposite direction.
We followed our designated course and completed at the exact time and point we were expected to.
That night a pow-wow was had by the combined wardrooms and everyone agreed that a better effort could be managed the next day.
The next day the plan was to allow the Sub to begin directly under the surface craft. Once the surface craft had acquired contact we were to move out and follow a pre designated course known only to the Submarine instead of both. I guess the thinking was that possibly the surface craft quartermaster and helmsman crew couldn’t navigate, and that was okay for reasons sound enough for a navy that floats on water. Obviously, those reasons were unsound when applied to a submerged navy already sunk.
As the exercise matured it was again clear that the surface craft was outside of its ‘comfort zone’. Unable to navigate a course that mirrored a submerged contact and remain temporarily undetected in it’s baffles is, one would believe, a woeful position for a combat ship to be in. Just the same, they proudly displayed the Battle Efficiency “E” with several hash marks on their stack.
That night on the return of both vessels to the pier yet another command conference was assembled and a post mortem of the days events conducted.
Finally, after more than a week of day ops and several FM slide tune ups an opportunity for the C.O. to shine was presented.
The final day we began on the surface immediately in front of the Destroyer. They had us dead to rights on their sonar. Duh.
We dove the ship and with in 10 minutes we were alone once again. The C.O. was a little miffed. This was a giant waste of time, money and effort. These guys couldn’t find their ass with both hands.
It was time for a little lesson in humility. We began by getting in their baffles at time Zulu + 00:13. We remained there all day taking time to come to periscope depth often taking pictures and getting in some fire control practice at the same time. At the end of the time allotted for the exercise we were required to disclose our location. Since we were directly astern of the destroyer we moved to their starboard at a range of about 70 yards and directly on their beam with the attack scope sticking out of the water about 12 feet. Since a surface craft operates with their radar going all of the time we figured we had about two minutes before we were detected by the radar or by the lookout. As we moved along at 4 knots, the surface craft called out on the UQC (underwater phone) for us to show ourselves.
Not wanting to quit without making a statement our C.O. said “raise the #2 scope”. Every one knew this would more than double the radar signature as the #2 scope fairing was huge and we virtually felt we were had.
But, surprise! No notice. Now the C.O. was really irked. “Raise the radar mast”… nothing. “Raise the …16 mast”… nothing. “Raise the snorkel mast”. Nothing. “Broach the ship!” Nothing. Remember we were only 70 to 100 yards off the starboard beam. I could clearly see our counter part using low power on #2 scope and couldn’t believe we were undetected.
The C.O. went to the bridge. From there he ordered a green smoke loaded and fired on his mark from the signal ejector. The smoke crossed the bow of the destroyer only seconds after they saw us.
Granted, there were obviously some extenuating circumstances in the example sited above. But given that and what we already know about submarine operations and stealth it can only be a good thing that the last true naval war was WWII and that 52% of all tonnage sunk in that terrible conflict was sunk by 2% of the fleet. Those incredibly brave men in the sinking machines.
That’s why they call ‘em ‘Restricted Waters’
That’s why they call ‘em ‘Restricted Waters’
During my third deployment to Rota Spain on Sea Trials I was an E-3 Seaman Gang member and a Helmsman/Planesman watch stander.(When I wasn't mess cookin') I was lucky enough to be mentor'd by 'one of the best' planesmen I was ever privileged to know, QM3/SS Jon Honnaker. Not known as one of the most demanding watch stations it still had 'a feel' to it that if you did your job right was fun. To be really good at anything you have to get that 'feel', too. I had it. We were operating in the restricted waters in the Atlantic not too far from Rota. After several days of drills and spills we were in the short strokes just prior to pulling into port for a final top off and patrol deployment. During those final days after the shakedown was virtually complete was the traditional period we used to calibrate those EM logs.
Running in a straight line at normal patrol depth maintaining strict course and depth guidelines. No more than 1 degree from ordered course and no more than 6" from ordered depth. We didn't want to invalidate the cal's. We began with the lower speeds. As we progressed to the higher speeds the day passed into night. It was late and as we found out later the moon was full. The boat was trimmed well and the water temperature was fairly consistent. We were slipping through the water like a well lubricated phallic symbol through, well, you know. I was on the Fairwater planes and we were some fifteen minutes from making the turn back down the same lane. It was quiet and control was rigged for red. We were each in our own little worlds. Some non regulation discussions were in progress. Ships speed was 21knots+. 8000 tons of screaming nuclear powered steal haulin' it through the dark night waters of the mid atlantic off the coast of Spain. All of a sudden a loud thump was heard directly above our heads followed by a scrapping metal on metal sound and a whirring like a reel of fishing string paying out REAL fast. Then a very distinguishable tug could be felt and my angle indicator and depth gage started moving up toward the surface. It had only varied about 3" but with the strict depth requirements I was only 3" from invalidating the cal run. The order from the OOD came to "watch your depth planesman" I applied several degrees of down angle on the Fairwater planes, 3 or 4, We all looked at each other, Jon the Diving officer and me, with puzzled looks on our faces, wondering "what the hey?" After several long seconds and four degrees of down angle on the planes another sound was heard. A snap. And the boat could be felt to lurch forward and the bow dropped back to a zero angle and I 'fell' back on ordered depth. We returned to our routine and later that night we went to periscope depth and took a visual of the area. As we were in restricted waters we were not surprised that no visible contacts were detected. At that speed nothing could be heard and no contacts were known to be around by using passive sonar techniques. On surfacing the next morning and beginning the rigging of topside for maneuvering up to the pier we noticed a diagonal slice running from low starboard to high port about an inch across (I could put the side of my hand in the groove) and at least fifteen feet long across the front of the sail ending near the port fairwater plane. It had a strange look to it, almost like a cable. That morning we pulled back into Rota. On the pier were several well armed LaGuardia Seville and what looked like some town politico's. Word came down that the CO was about to be arrested for manslaughter! Of course after ten days of sea trials we were all right there to confirm his abuses on the crew.
As it turned out though a local fishing trawler had gone down the previous night while fishing in the restricted waters off the coast of Spain killing all five crew members and destroying a full half of the local fishing fleet. Local residents were up in arms. "Heads were going to roll". Obviously, it turns out, that the trawler had its nets out, the bottom of which were nearly 75ft (25 meters the same range our sail was at), the bottom of the nets have a large cable that holds the net down straight and helps keep it from tangling. We snagged that cable with our sail going the opposite direction or on some tangent of the trawlers course. The fishermen must have had a brief moment of elation in belief that they had just caught the largest fish in the world. In fact they had. Their elation must have equally quickly turned to terror as they realized this fish was going to eat their lunch. The cable zipped across the front of our sail like a giant high speed rat tail file before we hit the end of it or it snapped or the trawler broke up and sank. Which it surely did. Killing all aboard. The only thing that saved the CO's bacon?
They don't call'em "restricted waters" for nothing.
During my third deployment to Rota Spain on Sea Trials I was an E-3 Seaman Gang member and a Helmsman/Planesman watch stander.(When I wasn't mess cookin') I was lucky enough to be mentor'd by 'one of the best' planesmen I was ever privileged to know, QM3/SS Jon Honnaker. Not known as one of the most demanding watch stations it still had 'a feel' to it that if you did your job right was fun. To be really good at anything you have to get that 'feel', too. I had it. We were operating in the restricted waters in the Atlantic not too far from Rota. After several days of drills and spills we were in the short strokes just prior to pulling into port for a final top off and patrol deployment. During those final days after the shakedown was virtually complete was the traditional period we used to calibrate those EM logs.
Running in a straight line at normal patrol depth maintaining strict course and depth guidelines. No more than 1 degree from ordered course and no more than 6" from ordered depth. We didn't want to invalidate the cal's. We began with the lower speeds. As we progressed to the higher speeds the day passed into night. It was late and as we found out later the moon was full. The boat was trimmed well and the water temperature was fairly consistent. We were slipping through the water like a well lubricated phallic symbol through, well, you know. I was on the Fairwater planes and we were some fifteen minutes from making the turn back down the same lane. It was quiet and control was rigged for red. We were each in our own little worlds. Some non regulation discussions were in progress. Ships speed was 21knots+. 8000 tons of screaming nuclear powered steal haulin' it through the dark night waters of the mid atlantic off the coast of Spain. All of a sudden a loud thump was heard directly above our heads followed by a scrapping metal on metal sound and a whirring like a reel of fishing string paying out REAL fast. Then a very distinguishable tug could be felt and my angle indicator and depth gage started moving up toward the surface. It had only varied about 3" but with the strict depth requirements I was only 3" from invalidating the cal run. The order from the OOD came to "watch your depth planesman" I applied several degrees of down angle on the Fairwater planes, 3 or 4, We all looked at each other, Jon the Diving officer and me, with puzzled looks on our faces, wondering "what the hey?" After several long seconds and four degrees of down angle on the planes another sound was heard. A snap. And the boat could be felt to lurch forward and the bow dropped back to a zero angle and I 'fell' back on ordered depth. We returned to our routine and later that night we went to periscope depth and took a visual of the area. As we were in restricted waters we were not surprised that no visible contacts were detected. At that speed nothing could be heard and no contacts were known to be around by using passive sonar techniques. On surfacing the next morning and beginning the rigging of topside for maneuvering up to the pier we noticed a diagonal slice running from low starboard to high port about an inch across (I could put the side of my hand in the groove) and at least fifteen feet long across the front of the sail ending near the port fairwater plane. It had a strange look to it, almost like a cable. That morning we pulled back into Rota. On the pier were several well armed LaGuardia Seville and what looked like some town politico's. Word came down that the CO was about to be arrested for manslaughter! Of course after ten days of sea trials we were all right there to confirm his abuses on the crew.
As it turned out though a local fishing trawler had gone down the previous night while fishing in the restricted waters off the coast of Spain killing all five crew members and destroying a full half of the local fishing fleet. Local residents were up in arms. "Heads were going to roll". Obviously, it turns out, that the trawler had its nets out, the bottom of which were nearly 75ft (25 meters the same range our sail was at), the bottom of the nets have a large cable that holds the net down straight and helps keep it from tangling. We snagged that cable with our sail going the opposite direction or on some tangent of the trawlers course. The fishermen must have had a brief moment of elation in belief that they had just caught the largest fish in the world. In fact they had. Their elation must have equally quickly turned to terror as they realized this fish was going to eat their lunch. The cable zipped across the front of our sail like a giant high speed rat tail file before we hit the end of it or it snapped or the trawler broke up and sank. Which it surely did. Killing all aboard. The only thing that saved the CO's bacon?
They don't call'em "restricted waters" for nothing.
That’s a non-standard Door Engineer
That’s a non-standard Door Engineer
As will happen on patrol the troops get bored. Looking for something to do that will have impact and at the same time be free from harmful effects can be a challenge in it self. Sometimes, it can back fire. After a particularly grueling week of drills and field days the engineering divisions decided something had to be done to show the crew was getting tired of this. During the mid-watch on the first opportunity the stateroom door on the engineers stateroom was removed and hidden in another compartment. Of course he was offended and humiliated. It worked. Briefly. But, he immediately called for the Auxiliaryman of the Watch Forward. I stumbled into the weird room berthing area and was shocked to see his door gone! He demanded that I return with his door before he was in his rack. Being un-informed of the nature of the prank I was duped also. Returning to him as ordered but with out the door, I was ordered to awaken the off going Aux. Fwd. and have him report to the Engineer. The off going AuxFwd was an MM2 skimmer to Submarine sailor conversion on his first patrol. A bit of a stiff neck. I gave the situation no more thought until my watch was over. Since it was morning no movie was scheduled and since we had been doing field days every day for a more than a week no serious outstanding work was in the queue. I headed for my rack. I was headed off by the messenger of the watch "Report to the Engineer" (so he could tell me to search for his door for six hours). I would lend it all of the attention it deserved. As I walked into the weird room berthing area I was surprised to see the off going AuxFwd I had awakened several hours ago standing at attention with his right hand forming a fist held tight at his right side. I tried to greet him but he refused to talk or acknowledge me. So I looked over his shoulder to address the Eng. The Eng. told me to knock on the "door". So, that was the game. I knocked on the forehead of the 'enlightened skimmer' and he said 'knock-knock'. I was granted permission to enter. I turned the right hand of MM2/DOOR and pushed him backward. He pivoted on his left side, just like a real door. In an attempt to bring some humor to his plight he squeaked as he opened. Oops! This did not bode well for him. The Eng. immediately called for the AuxFwd. When he arrived he was ordered to return with enough graphite grease to "grease the entire length of that squeaky hinge". The look of fear spread across the face of MM2/DOOR.
The AuxFwd being the dutiful enthusiastic young man he was, greased the door from ear to ankle. Of course this was intended to strike fear in the hearts of those 'guilty' parties and have his door returned. Enlisted men in Submarines being somewhat "different", it had the exact opposite effect. For over a week various crew members stood 'Acting door'watch after standing their usual watch station duty. 24 hours a day. On top of that, field days were lengthened to help sap the abundant energy of a mischievous crew. Eventually, the X.O. had to order the door returned over the 1MC, as the Engineers two other room mates, at times, had difficulty getting the door to operate 'like the old one'. It just goes to show, you better watch out what you ask for... you might just get it. We did.
As will happen on patrol the troops get bored. Looking for something to do that will have impact and at the same time be free from harmful effects can be a challenge in it self. Sometimes, it can back fire. After a particularly grueling week of drills and field days the engineering divisions decided something had to be done to show the crew was getting tired of this. During the mid-watch on the first opportunity the stateroom door on the engineers stateroom was removed and hidden in another compartment. Of course he was offended and humiliated. It worked. Briefly. But, he immediately called for the Auxiliaryman of the Watch Forward. I stumbled into the weird room berthing area and was shocked to see his door gone! He demanded that I return with his door before he was in his rack. Being un-informed of the nature of the prank I was duped also. Returning to him as ordered but with out the door, I was ordered to awaken the off going Aux. Fwd. and have him report to the Engineer. The off going AuxFwd was an MM2 skimmer to Submarine sailor conversion on his first patrol. A bit of a stiff neck. I gave the situation no more thought until my watch was over. Since it was morning no movie was scheduled and since we had been doing field days every day for a more than a week no serious outstanding work was in the queue. I headed for my rack. I was headed off by the messenger of the watch "Report to the Engineer" (so he could tell me to search for his door for six hours). I would lend it all of the attention it deserved. As I walked into the weird room berthing area I was surprised to see the off going AuxFwd I had awakened several hours ago standing at attention with his right hand forming a fist held tight at his right side. I tried to greet him but he refused to talk or acknowledge me. So I looked over his shoulder to address the Eng. The Eng. told me to knock on the "door". So, that was the game. I knocked on the forehead of the 'enlightened skimmer' and he said 'knock-knock'. I was granted permission to enter. I turned the right hand of MM2/DOOR and pushed him backward. He pivoted on his left side, just like a real door. In an attempt to bring some humor to his plight he squeaked as he opened. Oops! This did not bode well for him. The Eng. immediately called for the AuxFwd. When he arrived he was ordered to return with enough graphite grease to "grease the entire length of that squeaky hinge". The look of fear spread across the face of MM2/DOOR.
The AuxFwd being the dutiful enthusiastic young man he was, greased the door from ear to ankle. Of course this was intended to strike fear in the hearts of those 'guilty' parties and have his door returned. Enlisted men in Submarines being somewhat "different", it had the exact opposite effect. For over a week various crew members stood 'Acting door'watch after standing their usual watch station duty. 24 hours a day. On top of that, field days were lengthened to help sap the abundant energy of a mischievous crew. Eventually, the X.O. had to order the door returned over the 1MC, as the Engineers two other room mates, at times, had difficulty getting the door to operate 'like the old one'. It just goes to show, you better watch out what you ask for... you might just get it. We did.
Monday, January 4, 2010
SINS. Ships Inertial Navigation System.
SINS. Ships Inertial Navigation System. On board the Simon Bolivar tied up in Rota Spain alongside the pier sometime in '75. I was on the bridge late at night. It was a moonless night and warm. Enjoying the quiet and the evening I was interrupted by our QM2(ss) carrying some funky looking device he later told me was a sextant. A clever device used to navigate the seven seas by navigators for many many years. My father told me stories of the QM on his WWII sub, the USS Apagon, being able to fix their position by catching a single star through the fog for only a couple of minutes. How true this is I can't say. But it impressed me none the less.
I was anxious to see this curious looking device put to the test in the hands of a trained quartermaster.
It wasn't going to be too difficult, I assumed, due to the absolutely crystal clear sky and it seemed to me every star in the universe was visible that night.
I was told by QM2 that he needed to be proficient for the E-6 test. Hmm. Any way, I watched and listened.
As he explained the do's and don'ts, the operation and the technique I was fascinated. I asked him how he would choose a particular star out of so many possibilities. "You don't have to know all the stars, just significant points using constellations as land marks. He collected angles and various other data that slips my mind at this late date. But I asked why a nuke sub would need such a device? After all we were never to surface under all but the most dire of circumstances.
Well, he began, what if SINS goes down for some reason and we need to launch? Good question. I accepted that answer. After all that was our only mission. That and coming home, as far as I was concerned. And not necessarily in that order. How we would ball park sixteen missiles with hand held data and complete the task before the end of any nuke battle never crossed my mind.
With that he said, "I'll use the North star. It's the sailors friend", he explained as he pointed to a bright star over head.
He wrote down some data and concluded it was time to "plot the position". Intrigued I followed him down into the control room and the attack center.
He had the chart for our location on the console. As he began to piece together the data through some considerable calculations it became vividly clear that we were tied up some where near Seville, a significant distance from Rota.
I watched as he pained over the results and recalculated then reploted. Then recalculated and reploted. As his embarrassment multiplied exponentially, I laughed hard. Finally, he gave up.
Imagine being on a surface ship under way bouncing and rocking and rolling and trying to gather accurate angle related data to objects light years away in order to pin point your location with enough accuracy to derive target data half way around the planet! and launch a missile all the while expecting it to hit the expected target!!!
Sounds hard enough doesn't it?
Several weeks later while we were at sea I was working with another QM while standing Aux Fwd watches. He was re-writing some daily logs. "There can only be two errors per page, front and back, or the log has to be re-written. It's a legal document, so it has to be accurate."
So, what are the errors? I asked. "Spelling mostly". Who makes spelling errors and what complex words do we use at sea that could possibly confound someone that spells for a living?
"Yes", I was told, "we have to re-write several pages a week due to inaccuracies".
The page had several red ink circles on it.
"It's QM2(ss), …the word? “Giesert". It was his own name.
He couldn't even spell his own name properly even though it was sewn right on his Poopy suit!
SINS. Ships Inertial Navigation System. Truly a life saving device.
SINS. Ships Inertial Navigation System. Truly a life saving device.
Sailors just don’t seem to change
Sailors just don’t seem to change
Sorry this isn't a Sea story. It is a true account of one of the week end duties that I pulled during the overhaul and refueling of the... well, I'll let the name go for now. It was in the summer of 1981 in Newport News Dry Dock and Ship building Company facilities, dry dock #3. We were onboard the usual temporary quarters, what we figured was a WWII era barge. In what could be considered atrocious condition. (after only a solid year of field days to get her to that high quality sheen,too) It was Friday, I was the duty section leader and the rest of the crew was on liberty until Monday morning quarters at 0600 (or maybe it was 0700) It was a typical steamy Virginia summer day. My roomie and I had brought our charcoal hibachi, some steaks and he brought his fishing pole and some shorts. For some after duty hours recreational activity on the O2 level of the spacious facilities. Saturday duty came and went leaving time for sunbathing and fishing for my roomie. Being the section leader I had a steady diet of low level disasters to attend to most of the day. But on one trip back to the barge from the dry dock I saw my buddy up on top fishing and decided to go up to see how the fish were biting. As I climbed the final step to the top of the barge I watched a Seagull fly up from between the barge and the pier. Bob, my roomie was laughing hysterically. I walked over and inquired; 'what's so funny?' He held up his fishing pole and the bail was open and line was paying out at a double quick rate. I quickly looked over the rail but saw nothing. With a puzzled look on my face I again asked about his laughter. He pointed to the sky and the now distant Seagull barely a speck flying toward the draw bridge just slightly up river from the shipyard. "Watch me make him do a loop-dee-loop". With that he applied a rapid hook set motion and some serious reel action while I kept my eye on the spot in the sky. Sure enough the bird did a backward flip in mid air! Easily three hundred yards out, he proceeded to reel his 'catch' in. As he worked the big bird back to the barge I asked how he had caught the damn seagull. He was fishing, he said, using cheeto's as bait on a very small hook. When all of a sudden the seagull swooped down and grabbed the 'bait' from the waters surface. Shortly he took off for what we figured appeared to be Richmond. That was about the time I saw him. He finally landed what by now was a thoroughly pissed off and very large seagull on the top of the barge. He had the hook caught in his tongue and was showing it to us and his snapping beak in an aggressive display of fearlessness and anger. Other than that he appeared unhurt. Now, trying to figure out what to do, we decided to attempt to get the hook out of his chops. Hopefully, without getting chopped ourselves. Bob's tee shirt was thrown over the birds head and worked to calm him a small amount. Unfortunately, getting the hook out of his tongue was not as easy. But once we got the hook out of his mouth we were worried about him. The wound was bleeding, as mouth wounds will do. Bob figured a day or so of observation was required. But no where on board was there a room with a door except the CO and XO's staterooms. Hmmmmm we figured the XO for a animal rights whacko soooo... The XO's stateroom was closed and the port hole was open. In went the bird and closed went the port hole. Bob figured by early Monday morning he would know if the bird was alright and he could open the port hole and set him free. He provided some more cheeto's and water and we left him alone. The XO was a running man. He ran to work and home nearly every day. So, his uniform was in his stateroom. Among other things. As the weekend progressed we forgot about the bird and on Monday morning the XO and the COB showed up early. The best laid plans... as the saying goes. As he opened his stateroom door he was taken by surprise by what was now not just a wounded and severely pissed off Seagull but one with one hell of an appetite and somewhat frightened! The XO let out a scream as the bird attempted to defend itself and maybe get a bite in too. "COBBBBB!!" We all heard it and we ran to offer some explanation. I arrived just after the COB and the XO was about as angry as I had ever seen someone. As we surveyed the destruction in the confusion of the moment the XO offered an explanation that seemed to be suitable, if he was willing to accept it.. who am I to argue? "COB, this seagull must have flown in through the port hole and knocked it closed accidentally locking himself in here over the weekend". His uniform was covered in blood (the birds)a half consumed cup of good ol' Navy coffee was now well soaked up in what appeared to be about two weeks of overdue paperwork now scattered and splashed with bird shit and in various stages of destruction itself. Next, the XO demonstrated his love of wildlife by gladly freeing the animal. As we all watched it disappear I slowly came to realize I was laughing pretty hard and had the focused attention of the COB and XO. I took the opportunity to report the status of the weekend shipyard work and excused myself as best I could. As far as I know this is the first time this story has ever been told in the public domain. I can only hope that those survivors of the ordeal are either dead or have lost their memories. Or can no longer see to read. In any event, everyone lived with little more than a hook wound and some extra work. Which never hurt an officer.
much
Sorry this isn't a Sea story. It is a true account of one of the week end duties that I pulled during the overhaul and refueling of the... well, I'll let the name go for now. It was in the summer of 1981 in Newport News Dry Dock and Ship building Company facilities, dry dock #3. We were onboard the usual temporary quarters, what we figured was a WWII era barge. In what could be considered atrocious condition. (after only a solid year of field days to get her to that high quality sheen,too) It was Friday, I was the duty section leader and the rest of the crew was on liberty until Monday morning quarters at 0600 (or maybe it was 0700) It was a typical steamy Virginia summer day. My roomie and I had brought our charcoal hibachi, some steaks and he brought his fishing pole and some shorts. For some after duty hours recreational activity on the O2 level of the spacious facilities. Saturday duty came and went leaving time for sunbathing and fishing for my roomie. Being the section leader I had a steady diet of low level disasters to attend to most of the day. But on one trip back to the barge from the dry dock I saw my buddy up on top fishing and decided to go up to see how the fish were biting. As I climbed the final step to the top of the barge I watched a Seagull fly up from between the barge and the pier. Bob, my roomie was laughing hysterically. I walked over and inquired; 'what's so funny?' He held up his fishing pole and the bail was open and line was paying out at a double quick rate. I quickly looked over the rail but saw nothing. With a puzzled look on my face I again asked about his laughter. He pointed to the sky and the now distant Seagull barely a speck flying toward the draw bridge just slightly up river from the shipyard. "Watch me make him do a loop-dee-loop". With that he applied a rapid hook set motion and some serious reel action while I kept my eye on the spot in the sky. Sure enough the bird did a backward flip in mid air! Easily three hundred yards out, he proceeded to reel his 'catch' in. As he worked the big bird back to the barge I asked how he had caught the damn seagull. He was fishing, he said, using cheeto's as bait on a very small hook. When all of a sudden the seagull swooped down and grabbed the 'bait' from the waters surface. Shortly he took off for what we figured appeared to be Richmond. That was about the time I saw him. He finally landed what by now was a thoroughly pissed off and very large seagull on the top of the barge. He had the hook caught in his tongue and was showing it to us and his snapping beak in an aggressive display of fearlessness and anger. Other than that he appeared unhurt. Now, trying to figure out what to do, we decided to attempt to get the hook out of his chops. Hopefully, without getting chopped ourselves. Bob's tee shirt was thrown over the birds head and worked to calm him a small amount. Unfortunately, getting the hook out of his tongue was not as easy. But once we got the hook out of his mouth we were worried about him. The wound was bleeding, as mouth wounds will do. Bob figured a day or so of observation was required. But no where on board was there a room with a door except the CO and XO's staterooms. Hmmmmm we figured the XO for a animal rights whacko soooo... The XO's stateroom was closed and the port hole was open. In went the bird and closed went the port hole. Bob figured by early Monday morning he would know if the bird was alright and he could open the port hole and set him free. He provided some more cheeto's and water and we left him alone. The XO was a running man. He ran to work and home nearly every day. So, his uniform was in his stateroom. Among other things. As the weekend progressed we forgot about the bird and on Monday morning the XO and the COB showed up early. The best laid plans... as the saying goes. As he opened his stateroom door he was taken by surprise by what was now not just a wounded and severely pissed off Seagull but one with one hell of an appetite and somewhat frightened! The XO let out a scream as the bird attempted to defend itself and maybe get a bite in too. "COBBBBB!!" We all heard it and we ran to offer some explanation. I arrived just after the COB and the XO was about as angry as I had ever seen someone. As we surveyed the destruction in the confusion of the moment the XO offered an explanation that seemed to be suitable, if he was willing to accept it.. who am I to argue? "COB, this seagull must have flown in through the port hole and knocked it closed accidentally locking himself in here over the weekend". His uniform was covered in blood (the birds)a half consumed cup of good ol' Navy coffee was now well soaked up in what appeared to be about two weeks of overdue paperwork now scattered and splashed with bird shit and in various stages of destruction itself. Next, the XO demonstrated his love of wildlife by gladly freeing the animal. As we all watched it disappear I slowly came to realize I was laughing pretty hard and had the focused attention of the COB and XO. I took the opportunity to report the status of the weekend shipyard work and excused myself as best I could. As far as I know this is the first time this story has ever been told in the public domain. I can only hope that those survivors of the ordeal are either dead or have lost their memories. Or can no longer see to read. In any event, everyone lived with little more than a hook wound and some extra work. Which never hurt an officer.
much
Neptune taking stock of courage
Neptune taking stock of courage
It was during the 'Cold War'. Refitting a 640 class FBM out of Holy Loch sometime in the winter of 1976-77. We'd been in our patrol area for some weeks. The routine of being at sea was the sanctuary everyone on board embraced. No one thought of how long we still had. And no one was thinking about how long we had been at sea. The drills and spills were just part of the routine. The ship was trim and we were running hot straight and normal, ahead one third at North Sea patrol depth. A little deeper to avoid the dramatic rolls that can result in injury in the North Atlantic Sea. I was the Aux.Fwd. We had been making water from the watch before mine and my turn over reflected that fact. As I came on watch we shifted to RPFW, reactor pure fresh water. Those tanks are in the Aft end of the Boat. And it was quickly forgotten. We had missed the midnight pass due to heavy seas. The control room party was not our strongest but together we could handle anything. Or so we thought. We had been deep to avoid the rough seas and had flown the radio buoy to keep in contact as the requirements demand. The entire watch was boring. Everything was as it should be. At 05:30 it was time for a NAV PASS. Breakfast was being prepared and served. No one noticed the 5 to 7 degree up angle the fairwater planesman was using just to maintain his ordered depth and he wasn't complaining. We proceeded to periscope depth after the usual preparations using the usual procedures. As we approached 120ft. the swells were easily felt as we took 7-15 degree rolls! The ship was handling the rough seas pretty good, better than on some passes. The OOD raised the periscope and checked for shadows and hull bottoms and the order came to proceed to periscope depth. The Diving officer acknowledged the order and passed his orders to the planesmen. "Make your depth 70ft smartly, 10 degree up angle". As the ship slowly moved toward the prescribed depth the swells were of the usual sort in the North Atlantic in winter... HUGE! The ship was now taking BIG rolls. Loud crashes followed by the tremendous shudder caused by waves coming up from under the fairwater planes and smashing into their flat under side. The ship had virtually broached as the swells rose and fell around us. Dishes could be heard rattling and smashing. But the boat wasn't coming up fast enough to get the pass. "If we miss this pass, heads are going to roll." Came the taunt from Lt. Wilson, the boats weapons officer who had the Deck and the Conn. He had gotten his degree in an East Coast seminary. So you know he was highly qualified. In an effort to aid the Diving officer he ordered a little higher up angle, 15 degrees. At this point the diving officer asked .."are we making water.."? "Yea", said the COW, "RPFW" and the Dive mumbled "oh crap! ALL WATCH, too"! The order came to begin pumping to sea as fast as the trim pump could pump. And of course it was too late. We almost got to 75ft.on the depth gage. But as anyone who's ever gone to sea in the North Atlantic can attest, the depth gage needs to be in the water to read properly. When the sea rolled past the stern suddenly we became aware of just how heavy 6 hours of RPFW can be. With an already steep 15 degree up angle doing 4 knots and 6 hours of RPFW that never got compensated for and the normal sea state of the North Atlantic in winter, we were starting to get that feeling that things were going to turn sour. And we weren't disappointed. We began to sink by the stern at a rate that would have been a good 'Emergency Deep' rate. The officer of the deck was screaming "Get me up, get me up"! We immediately were out of the picture for the pass. But more importantly we were still sinking by the stern quite quickly. The ships hovering system control panel showed our downward momentum pegged hard to the stops. We passed 150ft and the Diving officer was asking for more speed. The OOD picked up the 7mc and ordered 'make turns for 6 knots'. We were now passing 250ft and gaining speed! Backwards! I had only seen the digital depth gage move faster during an emergency blow. And that usually results in the Boat surfacing. Our boat was only one of two boats that were not yet restricted to "shallow dives". Lt. Wilson was in a state one notch short of panic and threats to the manhood of the control room party were eschewing from his mouth with considerable ferocity. I kept my eye on the Emergency Blow "T" handles and waited, telling myself "if we go past 1100ft. I'm going to save my own ass." As we passed 400ft the CO came into the control room in his skivvies. He wanted to know why he hadn't been informed about the success of the NAV PASS. He was pissed and more than a little concerned and let the Lt. know it. He left and now the OOD was really screaming at the top of his lungs to "get me up"! More threats. At it's worst we sank over 850 ft. with an up angle of almost 20 degrees at times, in a little less than three minutes. Finally some sense came to the OOD. Our up angle had been reduced to 10 degrees and our rate of decent was slowing but we were still looking at going below 1000ft under uncontrolled circumstances. He ordered ahead two thirds and put a three second bubble in the forward group followed by a two second blow in the stern group. We had pumped out way over fifty thousand pounds of water and actually pressurized and blew water to sea using the HOV system. Finally, we regained control of both the ship and our selves. Despite the panic on the Conn the control room party followed orders and did their jobs. The OOD ordered immediate relief’s for the planesman. And commenced to lecture them on the disaster that he so skillfully had just saved the entire ship from. Once the relief’s got there the OOD held them in formation (the three of them) and screamed in their faces like a drill sergeant. He sent them to the crews mess and told them they each had two hours to prepare an SA and a prayer. An SA on "why God had just saved such an unworthy control room party from certain burial at sea" and a prayer "to thank him for saving our bacon despite our lack of redeeming qualities". He disqualified them all on the spot and ordered them "re-qualified by your next watch" and he was to have the final signatory checkout. As you might expect the CO put the kabosh on the prayer and had a lengthy discussion with Lt. Wilson, after he changed his poopy suit, about decorum, leadership and Gods place in the U.S Navy Submarine Service. The rest of the crew was unaware as to the actual goings on of the failed NAV PASS and carried on as though it was just another day at sea. Ain't it great to be alive?
It was during the 'Cold War'. Refitting a 640 class FBM out of Holy Loch sometime in the winter of 1976-77. We'd been in our patrol area for some weeks. The routine of being at sea was the sanctuary everyone on board embraced. No one thought of how long we still had. And no one was thinking about how long we had been at sea. The drills and spills were just part of the routine. The ship was trim and we were running hot straight and normal, ahead one third at North Sea patrol depth. A little deeper to avoid the dramatic rolls that can result in injury in the North Atlantic Sea. I was the Aux.Fwd. We had been making water from the watch before mine and my turn over reflected that fact. As I came on watch we shifted to RPFW, reactor pure fresh water. Those tanks are in the Aft end of the Boat. And it was quickly forgotten. We had missed the midnight pass due to heavy seas. The control room party was not our strongest but together we could handle anything. Or so we thought. We had been deep to avoid the rough seas and had flown the radio buoy to keep in contact as the requirements demand. The entire watch was boring. Everything was as it should be. At 05:30 it was time for a NAV PASS. Breakfast was being prepared and served. No one noticed the 5 to 7 degree up angle the fairwater planesman was using just to maintain his ordered depth and he wasn't complaining. We proceeded to periscope depth after the usual preparations using the usual procedures. As we approached 120ft. the swells were easily felt as we took 7-15 degree rolls! The ship was handling the rough seas pretty good, better than on some passes. The OOD raised the periscope and checked for shadows and hull bottoms and the order came to proceed to periscope depth. The Diving officer acknowledged the order and passed his orders to the planesmen. "Make your depth 70ft smartly, 10 degree up angle". As the ship slowly moved toward the prescribed depth the swells were of the usual sort in the North Atlantic in winter... HUGE! The ship was now taking BIG rolls. Loud crashes followed by the tremendous shudder caused by waves coming up from under the fairwater planes and smashing into their flat under side. The ship had virtually broached as the swells rose and fell around us. Dishes could be heard rattling and smashing. But the boat wasn't coming up fast enough to get the pass. "If we miss this pass, heads are going to roll." Came the taunt from Lt. Wilson, the boats weapons officer who had the Deck and the Conn. He had gotten his degree in an East Coast seminary. So you know he was highly qualified. In an effort to aid the Diving officer he ordered a little higher up angle, 15 degrees. At this point the diving officer asked .."are we making water.."? "Yea", said the COW, "RPFW" and the Dive mumbled "oh crap! ALL WATCH, too"! The order came to begin pumping to sea as fast as the trim pump could pump. And of course it was too late. We almost got to 75ft.on the depth gage. But as anyone who's ever gone to sea in the North Atlantic can attest, the depth gage needs to be in the water to read properly. When the sea rolled past the stern suddenly we became aware of just how heavy 6 hours of RPFW can be. With an already steep 15 degree up angle doing 4 knots and 6 hours of RPFW that never got compensated for and the normal sea state of the North Atlantic in winter, we were starting to get that feeling that things were going to turn sour. And we weren't disappointed. We began to sink by the stern at a rate that would have been a good 'Emergency Deep' rate. The officer of the deck was screaming "Get me up, get me up"! We immediately were out of the picture for the pass. But more importantly we were still sinking by the stern quite quickly. The ships hovering system control panel showed our downward momentum pegged hard to the stops. We passed 150ft and the Diving officer was asking for more speed. The OOD picked up the 7mc and ordered 'make turns for 6 knots'. We were now passing 250ft and gaining speed! Backwards! I had only seen the digital depth gage move faster during an emergency blow. And that usually results in the Boat surfacing. Our boat was only one of two boats that were not yet restricted to "shallow dives". Lt. Wilson was in a state one notch short of panic and threats to the manhood of the control room party were eschewing from his mouth with considerable ferocity. I kept my eye on the Emergency Blow "T" handles and waited, telling myself "if we go past 1100ft. I'm going to save my own ass." As we passed 400ft the CO came into the control room in his skivvies. He wanted to know why he hadn't been informed about the success of the NAV PASS. He was pissed and more than a little concerned and let the Lt. know it. He left and now the OOD was really screaming at the top of his lungs to "get me up"! More threats. At it's worst we sank over 850 ft. with an up angle of almost 20 degrees at times, in a little less than three minutes. Finally some sense came to the OOD. Our up angle had been reduced to 10 degrees and our rate of decent was slowing but we were still looking at going below 1000ft under uncontrolled circumstances. He ordered ahead two thirds and put a three second bubble in the forward group followed by a two second blow in the stern group. We had pumped out way over fifty thousand pounds of water and actually pressurized and blew water to sea using the HOV system. Finally, we regained control of both the ship and our selves. Despite the panic on the Conn the control room party followed orders and did their jobs. The OOD ordered immediate relief’s for the planesman. And commenced to lecture them on the disaster that he so skillfully had just saved the entire ship from. Once the relief’s got there the OOD held them in formation (the three of them) and screamed in their faces like a drill sergeant. He sent them to the crews mess and told them they each had two hours to prepare an SA and a prayer. An SA on "why God had just saved such an unworthy control room party from certain burial at sea" and a prayer "to thank him for saving our bacon despite our lack of redeeming qualities". He disqualified them all on the spot and ordered them "re-qualified by your next watch" and he was to have the final signatory checkout. As you might expect the CO put the kabosh on the prayer and had a lengthy discussion with Lt. Wilson, after he changed his poopy suit, about decorum, leadership and Gods place in the U.S Navy Submarine Service. The rest of the crew was unaware as to the actual goings on of the failed NAV PASS and carried on as though it was just another day at sea. Ain't it great to be alive?
Navigation Aides
Navigation Aides
This is a story my Father told me. He was on the USS Apagon (SS308?) for a period during WWII. Before it was sunk as part of the Manhattan Project along with hundreds of other ships and submarines.
Of course the war was going on hot and heavy. Wolf Packs were a common form of deployment and were favored over the single boat deployments. This particular patrol was not a Wolf Pack type. Diesel boats spent the majority of their time on the surface. Since long submerged periods were not possible like they are today. To set the stage a bit... it was 1943 and the Apagon was on patrol off the coast of Japan. It was night and the sub was on the surface. The diesel was running and it was extremely foggy. The QM was attempting to get a sextant reading but was having a great deal of difficulty seeing a star he could identify and keep long enough to get a reading.
While he was waiting the lookout was moved from the periscope shears to the bow since they were having a lot of trouble even seeing the bow. He was on the SP phones and after 'feeling' his way to the bow oriented himself to look in the direction of motion. After a while he began looking for a place to sit. Since the boats were kept rigged as a way of being ready for any eventuality the capstan was up and it made for a fine seat. With the fog, it was a might cold and the lookout sat on his feet, Indian style, they used to call it. As time progressed the lookout began to get fatigued. Looking out into the fog straining to see the bow of an enemy vessel before a collision occurred and get it reported. Periodically he would glance back to see if he could still make out the shape of the conning tower in the thick fog and the dark. As the night progressed it seemed to him the fog was getting more and more dense as seeing the sail became impossible. He felt all alone out there sitting on the capstan isolated even from view. Every fifteen minutes he made a report over the SP phones: "No visible contacts, no audible contacts". Then it happened. He thought he could hear the sound of a hull splashing through the water. But afraid to make a false report and anxious to do the best job he could he strained to hear, and see, what it was so he could make his report and save the ship. Now he was a bundle of nerves sitting there. Just then he was sure! There it was definitely a ship! He jumped up and made his report into the SP phones "collision immanent, ship dead ahead" the sub almost instantly sounded it's fog horn and that convinced the lookout. It was dead ahead! He turned around 180 degrees and ran full tilt toward the sail. Unfortunately, the hydraulics for the capstan drive had not been secured tightly, all the while he was sitting there it had ever so slowly rotated around and he ran as fast as he could right off the bow of his own submarine screaming at the top of his lungs "collision, collision". He was recovered uninjured, wet, cold and very humiliated by the Man Overboard Team without further incident.
It was nearly dawn before the QM got a fix on a star and the fog began to lift. Thank God for good Sonar techs. and ELM/IFF.
This is a story my Father told me. He was on the USS Apagon (SS308?) for a period during WWII. Before it was sunk as part of the Manhattan Project along with hundreds of other ships and submarines.
Of course the war was going on hot and heavy. Wolf Packs were a common form of deployment and were favored over the single boat deployments. This particular patrol was not a Wolf Pack type. Diesel boats spent the majority of their time on the surface. Since long submerged periods were not possible like they are today. To set the stage a bit... it was 1943 and the Apagon was on patrol off the coast of Japan. It was night and the sub was on the surface. The diesel was running and it was extremely foggy. The QM was attempting to get a sextant reading but was having a great deal of difficulty seeing a star he could identify and keep long enough to get a reading.
While he was waiting the lookout was moved from the periscope shears to the bow since they were having a lot of trouble even seeing the bow. He was on the SP phones and after 'feeling' his way to the bow oriented himself to look in the direction of motion. After a while he began looking for a place to sit. Since the boats were kept rigged as a way of being ready for any eventuality the capstan was up and it made for a fine seat. With the fog, it was a might cold and the lookout sat on his feet, Indian style, they used to call it. As time progressed the lookout began to get fatigued. Looking out into the fog straining to see the bow of an enemy vessel before a collision occurred and get it reported. Periodically he would glance back to see if he could still make out the shape of the conning tower in the thick fog and the dark. As the night progressed it seemed to him the fog was getting more and more dense as seeing the sail became impossible. He felt all alone out there sitting on the capstan isolated even from view. Every fifteen minutes he made a report over the SP phones: "No visible contacts, no audible contacts". Then it happened. He thought he could hear the sound of a hull splashing through the water. But afraid to make a false report and anxious to do the best job he could he strained to hear, and see, what it was so he could make his report and save the ship. Now he was a bundle of nerves sitting there. Just then he was sure! There it was definitely a ship! He jumped up and made his report into the SP phones "collision immanent, ship dead ahead" the sub almost instantly sounded it's fog horn and that convinced the lookout. It was dead ahead! He turned around 180 degrees and ran full tilt toward the sail. Unfortunately, the hydraulics for the capstan drive had not been secured tightly, all the while he was sitting there it had ever so slowly rotated around and he ran as fast as he could right off the bow of his own submarine screaming at the top of his lungs "collision, collision". He was recovered uninjured, wet, cold and very humiliated by the Man Overboard Team without further incident.
It was nearly dawn before the QM got a fix on a star and the fog began to lift. Thank God for good Sonar techs. and ELM/IFF.
Medivac an Officer? I don’t think so
Medivac an Officer? I don’t think so
Everyone has at least one medi-evac story that reflects the dangers of personnel transfers at sea. This isn't one of those stories. Our supply officer in 1974 was one Ltjg. Nutter, a Senators son with a baby face and an all around spoiled child. He developed severe symptoms of kidney stone movement while we were at sea. Our Corpsman at the time was HMMC/SS Mosseau (spelling) and he was an old diesel boat sailor and loved the power he held as the Senior Medical Officer on board, (actually the only medical officer). He doped up Lt. Nutter as if he were about to give birth and wanted no memory of the event. And by all accounts that is exactly what he was about to go through. (as close as men can get, thank Admiral God.) Since he was so 'out of his mind' from the morphine the Aux. Fwd. and AEF were assigned to look in on him as we did our checks on the 4FZ system and Nuclear Torpedo's, randomly once every thirty minutes or less. Just to make sure he hadn't swallowed his tongue or some thing. We always made sure he was tucked in tight. And I always tried to make conversation with him: " No matter what you've heard, sir, we have killed almost all of those giant spiders, don't you worry". Although his eyes were considerably glassed over he was able to eek out an almost inaudible scream. I'm not sure if it was from fear or just an acknowledgement of the 'warning'. Again, I reassured him and left him with a rolled up 'Radio room news' sheet and I preset the Sound Powered phone growler to the Control Room and instructed him to use it if he saw one. Later, I returned to check in on him again. He tried to question me about the spiders but he was incomprehensible. So I told him we were too busy with the flooding in the Engine Room to be concerned about the spiders right now. About 10 minutes later we went to periscope depth for a pass and I was able to reassure him that snorkeling or ventilating the ship would help remove the heavy smoke from the fire that the flooding had started. For almost a week Ltjg. Nutter suffered the 'pain of child birth', the helplessness of an infant and the mental incapacity of a junkie. All the while being entertained by personal hallucinations that he reported to the corpsman on his visits. They became topics of conversation onboard during his flirtation with incredible pain and heavily controlled hallucinogenic narcotics (morphine). Some people can handle it, others... get help. I was glad I was there for him. After he shook off the effects of the drugs he could remember only the smallest periods of contact with the real world and the unreal seemed more life like. Making it seem like a bad dream. Which it was, for him. Boy, those Submariners are sure a bunch of ... well, you know.
Everyone has at least one medi-evac story that reflects the dangers of personnel transfers at sea. This isn't one of those stories. Our supply officer in 1974 was one Ltjg. Nutter, a Senators son with a baby face and an all around spoiled child. He developed severe symptoms of kidney stone movement while we were at sea. Our Corpsman at the time was HMMC/SS Mosseau (spelling) and he was an old diesel boat sailor and loved the power he held as the Senior Medical Officer on board, (actually the only medical officer). He doped up Lt. Nutter as if he were about to give birth and wanted no memory of the event. And by all accounts that is exactly what he was about to go through. (as close as men can get, thank Admiral God.) Since he was so 'out of his mind' from the morphine the Aux. Fwd. and AEF were assigned to look in on him as we did our checks on the 4FZ system and Nuclear Torpedo's, randomly once every thirty minutes or less. Just to make sure he hadn't swallowed his tongue or some thing. We always made sure he was tucked in tight. And I always tried to make conversation with him: " No matter what you've heard, sir, we have killed almost all of those giant spiders, don't you worry". Although his eyes were considerably glassed over he was able to eek out an almost inaudible scream. I'm not sure if it was from fear or just an acknowledgement of the 'warning'. Again, I reassured him and left him with a rolled up 'Radio room news' sheet and I preset the Sound Powered phone growler to the Control Room and instructed him to use it if he saw one. Later, I returned to check in on him again. He tried to question me about the spiders but he was incomprehensible. So I told him we were too busy with the flooding in the Engine Room to be concerned about the spiders right now. About 10 minutes later we went to periscope depth for a pass and I was able to reassure him that snorkeling or ventilating the ship would help remove the heavy smoke from the fire that the flooding had started. For almost a week Ltjg. Nutter suffered the 'pain of child birth', the helplessness of an infant and the mental incapacity of a junkie. All the while being entertained by personal hallucinations that he reported to the corpsman on his visits. They became topics of conversation onboard during his flirtation with incredible pain and heavily controlled hallucinogenic narcotics (morphine). Some people can handle it, others... get help. I was glad I was there for him. After he shook off the effects of the drugs he could remember only the smallest periods of contact with the real world and the unreal seemed more life like. Making it seem like a bad dream. Which it was, for him. Boy, those Submariners are sure a bunch of ... well, you know.
Homophobia or prison panic?
Homophobia or prison panic?
This happened back in 1978-79 on board the USS Von Steuben SSBN 632B. We had just received a new MS on board. As nice a guy as you'd ever hope to meet. That has nothing to do with entertainment at sea though. He was more than a bit jittery about being on board a Submarine, too. He'd heard the stories, you know, long periods at sea... The gentleman was of the African American persuasion and a real nice guy, named Alfred. I was a MM1 Auxiliaryman and need something to do all patrol. And I knew the moment I met him what that something was. Once I discovered his fear of being someone’s 'boyfriend' for the duration of the patrol his fate was sealed...so to speak. All of the Dolphin wearers were in on it after a day or two and soon the show began. I could sign ships qual cards on about fifteen different ship board systems and several others without question... I got hold of his qual card and initialed more than half of it. He had to come to me to get those sub-systems signed off. A little grab ass here and a tongue in his ear there and pretty soon his head was on a swivel. Of course, there is no hiding from an A-ganger on board a submarine. Every possible hiding place has at least one piece of A-gang equipment. After about 12 weeks of this he was fit to be tied! Every time he thought he was shed of me, I'd sneak up behind him and pat him on the ass or kiss him on the neck. {He even talked about a transfer}. The entire crew was in stitches and this helped relieve a lot of the drudgery of being at sea. I told him I could get us some time 'alone' in the Yeoman's shack and he got REAL scared. During maneuvering watch coming up river to the weapons station in Charleston S.C. I told him I was going to get liberty at the same time he did and well.., I carried on right up til we tied up and visitors were allowed to come down. As it turned out I was the section leader and had the first BDW after mooring. While visitors were milling around one of my friends had escorted my girlfriend down. Boy was 'ole Alfred blown away when he finally figured out the truth! He would have laughed, but he didn't have the strength. You could literally see the relief in his face.
Alfred if you read this, thanks for keeping the crew laughing. Newbies always pay a high price. You paid as high a price as anyone.
This happened back in 1978-79 on board the USS Von Steuben SSBN 632B. We had just received a new MS on board. As nice a guy as you'd ever hope to meet. That has nothing to do with entertainment at sea though. He was more than a bit jittery about being on board a Submarine, too. He'd heard the stories, you know, long periods at sea... The gentleman was of the African American persuasion and a real nice guy, named Alfred. I was a MM1 Auxiliaryman and need something to do all patrol. And I knew the moment I met him what that something was. Once I discovered his fear of being someone’s 'boyfriend' for the duration of the patrol his fate was sealed...so to speak. All of the Dolphin wearers were in on it after a day or two and soon the show began. I could sign ships qual cards on about fifteen different ship board systems and several others without question... I got hold of his qual card and initialed more than half of it. He had to come to me to get those sub-systems signed off. A little grab ass here and a tongue in his ear there and pretty soon his head was on a swivel. Of course, there is no hiding from an A-ganger on board a submarine. Every possible hiding place has at least one piece of A-gang equipment. After about 12 weeks of this he was fit to be tied! Every time he thought he was shed of me, I'd sneak up behind him and pat him on the ass or kiss him on the neck. {He even talked about a transfer}. The entire crew was in stitches and this helped relieve a lot of the drudgery of being at sea. I told him I could get us some time 'alone' in the Yeoman's shack and he got REAL scared. During maneuvering watch coming up river to the weapons station in Charleston S.C. I told him I was going to get liberty at the same time he did and well.., I carried on right up til we tied up and visitors were allowed to come down. As it turned out I was the section leader and had the first BDW after mooring. While visitors were milling around one of my friends had escorted my girlfriend down. Boy was 'ole Alfred blown away when he finally figured out the truth! He would have laughed, but he didn't have the strength. You could literally see the relief in his face.
Alfred if you read this, thanks for keeping the crew laughing. Newbies always pay a high price. You paid as high a price as anyone.
Hepatitis at Sea
Hepatitis at Sea
This story, again true as the Sun, is one about a great Auxiliaryman that made a bad decision in his judgment of this particular situation. He is dead, now. A victim of a motorcycle accident while serving as an instructor at Great Lakes. MM2/SS Chris Schmoker was the kind of A-ganger that you want on board, he knew everything and took pride in being the main brain. He was motivated beyond the levels of the most aggressive on board. Performing routine maintenance is one of the benefits of being an A-ganger. Sometimes the job is cold or wet or oily or nasty. Some times it's all the above. But Schmoker attacked them all the same way. With aggressiveness and thorough knowledge. After his watch, just like the rest of us, he got his off going watch work assignment. He drew the short straw on this one though. The port inboard enlisted head needed the ball valve seat replaced.
He was well into the job when I came through on my rounds with my UI. He sat with his back against the charcoal filter stack legs extending under the stall into the next one. Parts all over and of course, the smell! My UI, not learned enough to keep his mouth shut yet, made remarks that belied his revulsion. Smoker, as we called him, lifted the ball valve and showed us some heavy scoring. The cause of the excessive blow by that sent up the flag on the maintenance for that crapper.
The UI was not intrigued by the visible damage to the ball. But when smoker lifted the ball up to his lips and licked it from bottom to top, that got his attention. I have to admit it put a frown on my face as well. He held up the ball as if to invite anyone else who couldn't resist an opportunity to satisfy their urge. But not being one to dwell on the disgusting aspect of personal choice, I continued my rounds... without accepting his gracious invite.
The following night I was going off at the mid-night watch and got the lucky draw of cleaning the drain pump duplex strainer as my off going work assignment. I had my UI and so I once more demonstrated the proper tag out procedure. As we were starting the job in Engine Room LL Main Seawater Bay we were surprised to be visited by Smoker. He was doing PMs on the H.P. air compressors.
As we hung the tags and verified the condition of the active components he filled us in on how the shitter ball valve job turned out. Nice and tight. Great.
As we talked the UI performed the tasks as I told him the order. As the cap came off of the starboard strainer Smoker looked in and got visibly excited by the site of some stroganoff noodles that managed to make a considerable pile in the bottom of the basket style strainer. Along with some peas, pubic hairs, some floaters we called grease biscuits and God knows what else. After all a lot of junk goes through here every day.
As the UI pulled the strainer up from the casting Smoker helped himself to a polite few noodles and swallowed them after a satisfying chew while looking straight into the eyes of UI.
I had to avert my eyes.
Now it became clear as to why he was he was present at my 'job'. He wanted to turn the stomach of my UI. And as UI emptied his gut into the bilge Smoker walked away satisfied that he was still the King of gross.
Not much more happened the next few days. I suppose Smoker felt he had made his point.
Then one morning on the way to chow I walked into the lounge and there sat Smoker. Wrapped in a blanket eyes closed and looking unconscious. Something else was peculiar about him. What was it? He had a pallor that I thought not possible without pancake makeup. He was yellow to the point of being nearly orange. Sweating like he just came out of the shower and chilling.
I had breakfast with the corpsman and felt compelled to inquire as to Smokers incredible color. HM2/SS Santini informed me that MM2/SS Smoker was most likely suffering from a severe case of hepatitis. But some tests were being done to verify that. The concern was where the hell did he get it? A huge investigation would have to be done to locate the source of the infectious material. Until that was done the entire crew was in danger. Being basically ignorant, the question begged to be asked, "What causes hepatitis?" The answer although surprising at that moment figured. "You have to eat shit" was the answer. "Oh", I said. "That explains that." "What do you mean" Santini asks. So I filled in the Corpsman to the things I had seen Smoker do in the name of what ever it was he was trying to accomplish.
The corpsman was relieved and immediately reported to the CO that he had discovered the cause of the illness. It was okay to inoculate the entire crew now.
Hemoglobin is a thick substance used to combat infectious diseases such as Hepatitis. And it is administered to each by weight. And the entire crew was the recipient of their 'fair' share of hemoglobin.
Smoker was isolated in the missile compartment berthing area and had exclusive use of the associated head. He was incoherent for the better part of ten days and in the early days we were all afraid he would die.
The good news is he didn't. The morale to this story? I didn't actually have one in mind when I started to write this but now it seems in need of one, doesn't it?
So for those of you waiting, the morale to this story is: No matter how tempted you may be by visible attractiveness, NEVER eat someone else’s shit. If in doubt, spit it out.
If you feel the need to impress someone with your abilities try trivia.
This story, again true as the Sun, is one about a great Auxiliaryman that made a bad decision in his judgment of this particular situation. He is dead, now. A victim of a motorcycle accident while serving as an instructor at Great Lakes. MM2/SS Chris Schmoker was the kind of A-ganger that you want on board, he knew everything and took pride in being the main brain. He was motivated beyond the levels of the most aggressive on board. Performing routine maintenance is one of the benefits of being an A-ganger. Sometimes the job is cold or wet or oily or nasty. Some times it's all the above. But Schmoker attacked them all the same way. With aggressiveness and thorough knowledge. After his watch, just like the rest of us, he got his off going watch work assignment. He drew the short straw on this one though. The port inboard enlisted head needed the ball valve seat replaced.
He was well into the job when I came through on my rounds with my UI. He sat with his back against the charcoal filter stack legs extending under the stall into the next one. Parts all over and of course, the smell! My UI, not learned enough to keep his mouth shut yet, made remarks that belied his revulsion. Smoker, as we called him, lifted the ball valve and showed us some heavy scoring. The cause of the excessive blow by that sent up the flag on the maintenance for that crapper.
The UI was not intrigued by the visible damage to the ball. But when smoker lifted the ball up to his lips and licked it from bottom to top, that got his attention. I have to admit it put a frown on my face as well. He held up the ball as if to invite anyone else who couldn't resist an opportunity to satisfy their urge. But not being one to dwell on the disgusting aspect of personal choice, I continued my rounds... without accepting his gracious invite.
The following night I was going off at the mid-night watch and got the lucky draw of cleaning the drain pump duplex strainer as my off going work assignment. I had my UI and so I once more demonstrated the proper tag out procedure. As we were starting the job in Engine Room LL Main Seawater Bay we were surprised to be visited by Smoker. He was doing PMs on the H.P. air compressors.
As we hung the tags and verified the condition of the active components he filled us in on how the shitter ball valve job turned out. Nice and tight. Great.
As we talked the UI performed the tasks as I told him the order. As the cap came off of the starboard strainer Smoker looked in and got visibly excited by the site of some stroganoff noodles that managed to make a considerable pile in the bottom of the basket style strainer. Along with some peas, pubic hairs, some floaters we called grease biscuits and God knows what else. After all a lot of junk goes through here every day.
As the UI pulled the strainer up from the casting Smoker helped himself to a polite few noodles and swallowed them after a satisfying chew while looking straight into the eyes of UI.
I had to avert my eyes.
Now it became clear as to why he was he was present at my 'job'. He wanted to turn the stomach of my UI. And as UI emptied his gut into the bilge Smoker walked away satisfied that he was still the King of gross.
Not much more happened the next few days. I suppose Smoker felt he had made his point.
Then one morning on the way to chow I walked into the lounge and there sat Smoker. Wrapped in a blanket eyes closed and looking unconscious. Something else was peculiar about him. What was it? He had a pallor that I thought not possible without pancake makeup. He was yellow to the point of being nearly orange. Sweating like he just came out of the shower and chilling.
I had breakfast with the corpsman and felt compelled to inquire as to Smokers incredible color. HM2/SS Santini informed me that MM2/SS Smoker was most likely suffering from a severe case of hepatitis. But some tests were being done to verify that. The concern was where the hell did he get it? A huge investigation would have to be done to locate the source of the infectious material. Until that was done the entire crew was in danger. Being basically ignorant, the question begged to be asked, "What causes hepatitis?" The answer although surprising at that moment figured. "You have to eat shit" was the answer. "Oh", I said. "That explains that." "What do you mean" Santini asks. So I filled in the Corpsman to the things I had seen Smoker do in the name of what ever it was he was trying to accomplish.
The corpsman was relieved and immediately reported to the CO that he had discovered the cause of the illness. It was okay to inoculate the entire crew now.
Hemoglobin is a thick substance used to combat infectious diseases such as Hepatitis. And it is administered to each by weight. And the entire crew was the recipient of their 'fair' share of hemoglobin.
Smoker was isolated in the missile compartment berthing area and had exclusive use of the associated head. He was incoherent for the better part of ten days and in the early days we were all afraid he would die.
The good news is he didn't. The morale to this story? I didn't actually have one in mind when I started to write this but now it seems in need of one, doesn't it?
So for those of you waiting, the morale to this story is: No matter how tempted you may be by visible attractiveness, NEVER eat someone else’s shit. If in doubt, spit it out.
If you feel the need to impress someone with your abilities try trivia.
Getting Married and Friends
Getting Married and Friends
I can't actually remember which patrol this was, after 15 they all seem to run together. But it was on board one of the original 41 for Freedom, the U.S.S. Von Steuben. It was our first patrol back state side as our home port had changed from Holy Lock to Charming Charleston S.C. sometime in the mid 70's. We had a new non qual AWEPS Ltjg. His name slips my mind, few officers were ever worth remembering, but he hadn't quite caught on to the non fraternization clause of being an officer. This more than likely straightened him out. We pulled into a Florida liberty port on our way back to Charleston where in AWEPS partook heavily of that opportunity. On his return to the ship he let slip that he was engaged to be married once we returned to home port, about two weeks from then. As is a common tradition, a group of us got together to come up with an appropriately unforgettable gift for the soon to be newly weds. Just two days before we pulled in we were still with out an idea. So, pulling from our leadership training back ground we began a brain storming session. Ideas were flying around like flies in August. Then it became clear. We managed to finally all agree and began the scavenger hunt for the required items. Once they were in hand we made preparations and laid the trap. AWEPS was LLMC on maneuvering watch and once the watch was secured we pounced. Someone, I don't know who, grabbed him down he went. Pant's were dropped and out came the Prussian blue. We each scribed our names neatly on his ass and a short congratulatory message. Next a combination lock was CAREFULLY snapped, with the dial facing "aft", over his entire package at the stem. Another person carefully tucked the combination into his pocket, expecting, rightly so, that only his most intimate of friends would likely be invited to attempt to 'crack the safe'. We all quickly disappeared and he recovered as gracefully as one can from such an attack. Late that night while standing below decks watch a phone call came into the control room phone. Low and behold it was the newly wed Mrs. AWEPs. She wasn't calling to thank us for the thoughtful gift either. Madder than a hatter, she proceeded with the full riot act disclosure. "I've been staring at this hemorrhoid for the last five hours trying to unlock this @#$%^&* combination lock and the combination isn't the right one! He won't let me near him with a hack saw or the bolt cutter. I want the C.O.!" "Well wait just a minute here, don't panic yet. The C.O. couldn't afford a gift of this quality, so let's just leave him out of it. What combination are you using? " She read it back and sure as hell, who ever was in charge of writing the combination down had swapped the numbers around a might, just to liven up the program I guess. Once she got the combination and the lock popped off, so did AWEPs, and all was we’ll, the next time we saw him he was not a happy camper and was walking with a slight gimp. And he no longer associated with "the men" as enlisted types are affectionately called by 'the gentlemen'. But I gua-run-tee that is one wedding present they won't forget. Unlike the three toasters.
I can't actually remember which patrol this was, after 15 they all seem to run together. But it was on board one of the original 41 for Freedom, the U.S.S. Von Steuben. It was our first patrol back state side as our home port had changed from Holy Lock to Charming Charleston S.C. sometime in the mid 70's. We had a new non qual AWEPS Ltjg. His name slips my mind, few officers were ever worth remembering, but he hadn't quite caught on to the non fraternization clause of being an officer. This more than likely straightened him out. We pulled into a Florida liberty port on our way back to Charleston where in AWEPS partook heavily of that opportunity. On his return to the ship he let slip that he was engaged to be married once we returned to home port, about two weeks from then. As is a common tradition, a group of us got together to come up with an appropriately unforgettable gift for the soon to be newly weds. Just two days before we pulled in we were still with out an idea. So, pulling from our leadership training back ground we began a brain storming session. Ideas were flying around like flies in August. Then it became clear. We managed to finally all agree and began the scavenger hunt for the required items. Once they were in hand we made preparations and laid the trap. AWEPS was LLMC on maneuvering watch and once the watch was secured we pounced. Someone, I don't know who, grabbed him down he went. Pant's were dropped and out came the Prussian blue. We each scribed our names neatly on his ass and a short congratulatory message. Next a combination lock was CAREFULLY snapped, with the dial facing "aft", over his entire package at the stem. Another person carefully tucked the combination into his pocket, expecting, rightly so, that only his most intimate of friends would likely be invited to attempt to 'crack the safe'. We all quickly disappeared and he recovered as gracefully as one can from such an attack. Late that night while standing below decks watch a phone call came into the control room phone. Low and behold it was the newly wed Mrs. AWEPs. She wasn't calling to thank us for the thoughtful gift either. Madder than a hatter, she proceeded with the full riot act disclosure. "I've been staring at this hemorrhoid for the last five hours trying to unlock this @#$%^&* combination lock and the combination isn't the right one! He won't let me near him with a hack saw or the bolt cutter. I want the C.O.!" "Well wait just a minute here, don't panic yet. The C.O. couldn't afford a gift of this quality, so let's just leave him out of it. What combination are you using? " She read it back and sure as hell, who ever was in charge of writing the combination down had swapped the numbers around a might, just to liven up the program I guess. Once she got the combination and the lock popped off, so did AWEPs, and all was we’ll, the next time we saw him he was not a happy camper and was walking with a slight gimp. And he no longer associated with "the men" as enlisted types are affectionately called by 'the gentlemen'. But I gua-run-tee that is one wedding present they won't forget. Unlike the three toasters.
Fire? or just really hot?
Fire or just really hot?
I assume that the Navy still has the same kind of people that made making it a career for me too much like going to prison voluntarily. You know the kind. People so full of themselves. The First Class division LPO that believes he is there because he is a great leader. Not because he was the senior guy and had the experience that less senior, less knowledgeable guys needed to be good at their jobs. It was 1976. Well, we sure had a couple of those. MM1/ss (A-gang)Frank Pennington was one. He had broken service. Got out and opened a AC business. Came back in because 'it was too tough out there'. With a heart, he could have been a nice guy. He had a huge ego, a whiney voice, a small stature and a badly receding hairline. A real enlisted military politician. He liked to make people miserable (I mean enjoyed it), it made him feel like he had control over you. And he was a stickler for the details that would make it clear that he intended to make you know it, and there is nothing you can do about it. We had been out to sea for several weeks and the usual routine of sea was the plan of the day. I was a second class A-ganger with almost three years in and was coming up on shift change... about to get off watch as Aux-Fwd. I was in conversation with MM1 Pennington on the dial-x (rotary dial phone) in control. I was getting my off going watch work assignments so I could make the appropriate tag outs. Field day had just concluded and the Fwd-IC man was conveying the CO2 readings to the OOD and they were way up. A second scrubber was going to be ordered. While I waited on the phone the OOD gave the order for the COW to start a second scrubber. The COW got on the sound powered phone to Maneuvering and ordered the EEOW to start a second scrubber. And I told my LPO the order was coming. He began to light it off as Maneuvering called him on the sound powered phone with the order. As he was acknowledging the order the motor to the MEA pump caught on fire. The watch standers in maneuvering saw the current draw of the second scrubber and knew it was coming up. Pennington acknowledged the order with maneuvering and hung up the sound powered phone and immediately shut the scrubber down. I was on the other ear. Pennington said to me to get the tag outs made and tell the on coming Aux-Fwd to get them approved but not to get permission to begin the jobs just yet, and to hurry back to AMR1 right after watch. I wanted to eat but was told not to bother. I arrived after watch to find the second scrubber powered off and the requisition for a new motor made out. I was ordered to begin the removal of the motor and told not to say anything to any one about the motor. I asked what had happened and he related the story of the fire while on the phone with me and the EEOW. I looked puzzled and asked how come he didn't report the fire. I mean we should have gone to general quarters. He came close to me and in a discrete voice said 'I didn't think it was necessary for this small thing'. I told him the CO2 levels were quite high and we were going to need the second scrubber right away. He told me to get to work. I made a comment about the off going OOD coming in and asking about the CO2 levels not coming down on his rounds after his watch and when he found out about the fire... well, heads were going to roll. Again, I was told to just get to work. All of a sudden it struck me as hilarious. My LPO as big an asshole as any other two people on board was breaking rules that could win him some serious consolation prizes. And I knew all of the facts. I began to laugh almost uncontrollably. He became very agitated in no time. As I worked I laughed. The off going Aux-Aft came through and he got the whole story with the three part harmony and of course, my laughter. His silence was ordered. I was laughing pretty hard when the off going OOD dropped into the ML. There I was laying on the floor unbolting the motor. I looked up and saw the OOD and began laughing harder. How was Pennington going to explain this one? As the OOD began to inquire about this not being on the tag out list, I began to chuckle. The truth was close to coming out and I was going to be there to see it happen. Wouldn't you know it, just when you think you have the answer, the question changes. Pennington, in his wisdom began to denigrate me for laughing at him. Then he ordered me to stop! I was so surprised at the inane order I laughed even harder. I was immediately told I was on report for disrespecting a superior. The OOD was a witness. And the deed was done. I was beside myself. The hilarity of the entire thing was too much. I never disclosed the facts of the situation. No investigation that involved me was conducted. I went to Captains mast two days later on the charges of disrespect to a superior petty officer. There I was standing in the Captains Stateroom at attention with my entire chain of command behind me. Each one of them confident that I was finally going to get what I so dearly deserved. In all honesty, I did have quite a bit of contempt for most of the 'leadership' in the service, but this circumstance only served to convince me that the Navy was truly a place for others, not me. And that my contempt was well placed. As I surveyed the line; LPO, CPO, DIVOFF, DEPTHEAD, XO and off going OOD I figured the worst that could happen was I'd be restricted to the boat. Ha-Ha. But something quite strange happened... the Captain asked me to explain the reason for my disrespectful behavior! Without too much disclosure I told him of the fire and the work performed without a tag out and was about to explain how I found that to be so funny coming from Pennington when I was cut off by the CO. "Is this true PO Pennington"? Of course, I expected him to lie. But again, I was surprised. He said it was true. All of it. Every single head in the line of my chain of command turned to the left to look at Pennington and in unison they all said 'you never told me that'! So shoot me, I guess I have a thing for irony. I began to laugh. The CO, on the other hand, had an entirely different state of mind. My demeanor changed back right away. A man not known for his sense of humor. The CO stood and looked me straight in the eye and apologized, dismissed the charges and ordered me to carry on. I acknowledged the order and departed his stateroom. You could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs at the entire chain of command clear into the control room. Of course the entire ship knew I was about to be keel hauled and was awaiting the order to surface the ship for that very activity. But an entirely different outcome resulted. From that point on I knew I had to watch my P's and Q's. And I did. But to this day the thought of military discipline brings an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh out loud. I had the opportunity to go to Captains mast several times in my illustrious eight and a half year career only once was any action actually taken. The charges were always attempted acts of 'official' revenge for my dogged determination to not be someone’s whipping boy.
But that is an entirely different story.
I assume that the Navy still has the same kind of people that made making it a career for me too much like going to prison voluntarily. You know the kind. People so full of themselves. The First Class division LPO that believes he is there because he is a great leader. Not because he was the senior guy and had the experience that less senior, less knowledgeable guys needed to be good at their jobs. It was 1976. Well, we sure had a couple of those. MM1/ss (A-gang)Frank Pennington was one. He had broken service. Got out and opened a AC business. Came back in because 'it was too tough out there'. With a heart, he could have been a nice guy. He had a huge ego, a whiney voice, a small stature and a badly receding hairline. A real enlisted military politician. He liked to make people miserable (I mean enjoyed it), it made him feel like he had control over you. And he was a stickler for the details that would make it clear that he intended to make you know it, and there is nothing you can do about it. We had been out to sea for several weeks and the usual routine of sea was the plan of the day. I was a second class A-ganger with almost three years in and was coming up on shift change... about to get off watch as Aux-Fwd. I was in conversation with MM1 Pennington on the dial-x (rotary dial phone) in control. I was getting my off going watch work assignments so I could make the appropriate tag outs. Field day had just concluded and the Fwd-IC man was conveying the CO2 readings to the OOD and they were way up. A second scrubber was going to be ordered. While I waited on the phone the OOD gave the order for the COW to start a second scrubber. The COW got on the sound powered phone to Maneuvering and ordered the EEOW to start a second scrubber. And I told my LPO the order was coming. He began to light it off as Maneuvering called him on the sound powered phone with the order. As he was acknowledging the order the motor to the MEA pump caught on fire. The watch standers in maneuvering saw the current draw of the second scrubber and knew it was coming up. Pennington acknowledged the order with maneuvering and hung up the sound powered phone and immediately shut the scrubber down. I was on the other ear. Pennington said to me to get the tag outs made and tell the on coming Aux-Fwd to get them approved but not to get permission to begin the jobs just yet, and to hurry back to AMR1 right after watch. I wanted to eat but was told not to bother. I arrived after watch to find the second scrubber powered off and the requisition for a new motor made out. I was ordered to begin the removal of the motor and told not to say anything to any one about the motor. I asked what had happened and he related the story of the fire while on the phone with me and the EEOW. I looked puzzled and asked how come he didn't report the fire. I mean we should have gone to general quarters. He came close to me and in a discrete voice said 'I didn't think it was necessary for this small thing'. I told him the CO2 levels were quite high and we were going to need the second scrubber right away. He told me to get to work. I made a comment about the off going OOD coming in and asking about the CO2 levels not coming down on his rounds after his watch and when he found out about the fire... well, heads were going to roll. Again, I was told to just get to work. All of a sudden it struck me as hilarious. My LPO as big an asshole as any other two people on board was breaking rules that could win him some serious consolation prizes. And I knew all of the facts. I began to laugh almost uncontrollably. He became very agitated in no time. As I worked I laughed. The off going Aux-Aft came through and he got the whole story with the three part harmony and of course, my laughter. His silence was ordered. I was laughing pretty hard when the off going OOD dropped into the ML. There I was laying on the floor unbolting the motor. I looked up and saw the OOD and began laughing harder. How was Pennington going to explain this one? As the OOD began to inquire about this not being on the tag out list, I began to chuckle. The truth was close to coming out and I was going to be there to see it happen. Wouldn't you know it, just when you think you have the answer, the question changes. Pennington, in his wisdom began to denigrate me for laughing at him. Then he ordered me to stop! I was so surprised at the inane order I laughed even harder. I was immediately told I was on report for disrespecting a superior. The OOD was a witness. And the deed was done. I was beside myself. The hilarity of the entire thing was too much. I never disclosed the facts of the situation. No investigation that involved me was conducted. I went to Captains mast two days later on the charges of disrespect to a superior petty officer. There I was standing in the Captains Stateroom at attention with my entire chain of command behind me. Each one of them confident that I was finally going to get what I so dearly deserved. In all honesty, I did have quite a bit of contempt for most of the 'leadership' in the service, but this circumstance only served to convince me that the Navy was truly a place for others, not me. And that my contempt was well placed. As I surveyed the line; LPO, CPO, DIVOFF, DEPTHEAD, XO and off going OOD I figured the worst that could happen was I'd be restricted to the boat. Ha-Ha. But something quite strange happened... the Captain asked me to explain the reason for my disrespectful behavior! Without too much disclosure I told him of the fire and the work performed without a tag out and was about to explain how I found that to be so funny coming from Pennington when I was cut off by the CO. "Is this true PO Pennington"? Of course, I expected him to lie. But again, I was surprised. He said it was true. All of it. Every single head in the line of my chain of command turned to the left to look at Pennington and in unison they all said 'you never told me that'! So shoot me, I guess I have a thing for irony. I began to laugh. The CO, on the other hand, had an entirely different state of mind. My demeanor changed back right away. A man not known for his sense of humor. The CO stood and looked me straight in the eye and apologized, dismissed the charges and ordered me to carry on. I acknowledged the order and departed his stateroom. You could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs at the entire chain of command clear into the control room. Of course the entire ship knew I was about to be keel hauled and was awaiting the order to surface the ship for that very activity. But an entirely different outcome resulted. From that point on I knew I had to watch my P's and Q's. And I did. But to this day the thought of military discipline brings an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh out loud. I had the opportunity to go to Captains mast several times in my illustrious eight and a half year career only once was any action actually taken. The charges were always attempted acts of 'official' revenge for my dogged determination to not be someone’s whipping boy.
But that is an entirely different story.
Deep Dive
Deep Dive
This was about my third patrol about 1975 or so. On board the Simon Bolivar (Blue). Making test depth dives was becoming something of a novelty as subsafe system re-certification after maintenance became a real bear. Simon B. was one of only two submarines at that particular time still operating unrestricted. Of course that means that Sea Trials would need to include a dive to test depth to show we were 100% mission capable. If you have ever made a dive to test depth you know it is not a task taken lightly. And if you happen to be a newbie on your first patrol and thence your first Sea Trials the hype is enough to put you on the edge of your seat. So it was for one such newbie. On my previous deep dives General Quarters was stationed and all bunks were empty as all hands looked for any leaks. This particular dive GQ was not stationed. All watch standers were on the sound powered phones. Off going watch standers were drafted into service for the inspection of leaks in those areas vulnerable to such. This story takes place in the Control Room. Our Fairwater planesman was on his first patrol. He wasn't qualified but I was right behind him. The preparations for a deep dive are thorough to say the least. The fun is limited, but the string demonstration serves to psych some folks. It has been my experience that deep dives are usually punctuated by an emergency blow of the main ballast tanks. Why not kill two birds with one stone, right? Our Diving Officer a Ltjg. Nuttier was a snooty son of a senator (go figure). And he loved to have fun at the expense of others, just like daddy taught him. Who was I to interfere with tradition? SN Newbie had the Fairwater planes as the order came to make your depth ---- ft. (sorry, I was told it was confidential) As the 'Dive' echoed the order and commanded the control party to make their depth so, he also took the opportunity to warn the newbie about the dangers of the tremendous pressure of the surrounding sea. "It would crush this boat like a empty pack of smokes, if one thing goes wrong". "Which reminds me," he said, "the sea floor here about is quite porous and small air bubbles escaping is common. This isn't so bad in and of itself. The problem is the extreme pressure at these depths is enough to hold those bubbles at depth. After time, they combine into larger and larger bubbles until there is a bubble of rather large proportion. So big in fact that if we hit one of them at this depth, speed and angle we could well fall several tens of feet if not a hundred feet or more before we can correct our depth. Thereby placing a huge danger of catastrophic disaster in the path of our boat". Newbie was terrified! Eyes as big as main seawater inlets!. For the duration of the test, SN Newbie was on the last string of his very thin line. When the order came to "Surface the Ship, Chief of the Watch, Emergency Blow the main ballast tanks" SN Newbie wasn't paying particularly good attention. All of a sudden a loud explosion of HP air vented behind the BCP and the ship shook like a toy held by a child and the sound of 4500psi air dumping into the main ballast tanks in a loud rush weakened the hold newbie had on his bladder. Newbie was in embarrassed shock. The entire time I coached him as to his planes work and he did okay. (If you've never done this, too bad. This is a definite E ticket ride). Nothing happened and we surfaced without a problem and headed into port for final load out and deployment. SN Newbie was now a deep diving sailor, friend of King Neptune and defender of the deep. A little braver and a little smarter. 19 was going to be a great birthday.
This was about my third patrol about 1975 or so. On board the Simon Bolivar (Blue). Making test depth dives was becoming something of a novelty as subsafe system re-certification after maintenance became a real bear. Simon B. was one of only two submarines at that particular time still operating unrestricted. Of course that means that Sea Trials would need to include a dive to test depth to show we were 100% mission capable. If you have ever made a dive to test depth you know it is not a task taken lightly. And if you happen to be a newbie on your first patrol and thence your first Sea Trials the hype is enough to put you on the edge of your seat. So it was for one such newbie. On my previous deep dives General Quarters was stationed and all bunks were empty as all hands looked for any leaks. This particular dive GQ was not stationed. All watch standers were on the sound powered phones. Off going watch standers were drafted into service for the inspection of leaks in those areas vulnerable to such. This story takes place in the Control Room. Our Fairwater planesman was on his first patrol. He wasn't qualified but I was right behind him. The preparations for a deep dive are thorough to say the least. The fun is limited, but the string demonstration serves to psych some folks. It has been my experience that deep dives are usually punctuated by an emergency blow of the main ballast tanks. Why not kill two birds with one stone, right? Our Diving Officer a Ltjg. Nuttier was a snooty son of a senator (go figure). And he loved to have fun at the expense of others, just like daddy taught him. Who was I to interfere with tradition? SN Newbie had the Fairwater planes as the order came to make your depth ---- ft. (sorry, I was told it was confidential) As the 'Dive' echoed the order and commanded the control party to make their depth so, he also took the opportunity to warn the newbie about the dangers of the tremendous pressure of the surrounding sea. "It would crush this boat like a empty pack of smokes, if one thing goes wrong". "Which reminds me," he said, "the sea floor here about is quite porous and small air bubbles escaping is common. This isn't so bad in and of itself. The problem is the extreme pressure at these depths is enough to hold those bubbles at depth. After time, they combine into larger and larger bubbles until there is a bubble of rather large proportion. So big in fact that if we hit one of them at this depth, speed and angle we could well fall several tens of feet if not a hundred feet or more before we can correct our depth. Thereby placing a huge danger of catastrophic disaster in the path of our boat". Newbie was terrified! Eyes as big as main seawater inlets!. For the duration of the test, SN Newbie was on the last string of his very thin line. When the order came to "Surface the Ship, Chief of the Watch, Emergency Blow the main ballast tanks" SN Newbie wasn't paying particularly good attention. All of a sudden a loud explosion of HP air vented behind the BCP and the ship shook like a toy held by a child and the sound of 4500psi air dumping into the main ballast tanks in a loud rush weakened the hold newbie had on his bladder. Newbie was in embarrassed shock. The entire time I coached him as to his planes work and he did okay. (If you've never done this, too bad. This is a definite E ticket ride). Nothing happened and we surfaced without a problem and headed into port for final load out and deployment. SN Newbie was now a deep diving sailor, friend of King Neptune and defender of the deep. A little braver and a little smarter. 19 was going to be a great birthday.
Date with a Dog
Date with a Dog
As a safety measure due to the extremely poor taste of this story the names of the guilty have been left out to protect them from serious retribution.
As any Submarine sailor knows, only too well, good taste is not a requirement for Sub duty. Actually, an occasional swerve into the truly cruel and exotic are not uncommon at all.
Such was the birth of the pool begun two days before we pulled into port in Jacksonville FLA. During the famous 'flex-ops' for boomers late in the '70's. Ten dollars got you in. Your job? Find the ugliest woman you could with in eight hours of the commencement of liberty and return with her to the Peppermint Lounge near the base gate by 1600hrs. The Peppermint lounge was known for it's line of male entertainment better understood as strippers. The originator of the pool was familiar with the area as his wife and her family were locals. Mind you, he was 100% faithful to her as far as I know, even under circumstances I thought were outside the realm of self restraint. He had his strategy all lined up, though and it was TOP SECRET. Another in my division was in the pool and he, known as the dwarf for reasons other than his height, had his own strategy. In any event it was sure to be a contest you didn't want to miss as the competitive spirit overtook the entire liberty section.
Many who entered the pool never showed up despite the anti, and the pool approached $100.00 Which equates to a lot of drunken sailors. We all hit the beach with the usual gusto and wasted no time in getting right down to the business at hand, getting a buzz worthy of a Submarine sailor. By about 1400hrs. it was time for the serious pool competition to begin his return strategy. How to get his particular contestant back to the site of the event of the day. The dwarf never let on that he was in any way concerned about his 'contestants' where about or how he would get her to the Peppermint Lounge. Others, I am told, fretted about this from about ten o'clock until the cab door opened in front of the club. About 1400 though he looks at me and says I think I'll go to the hospital, I'll see ya' later. With a question that belied my confusion on my face, he left.
1600hrs was rolling up pretty quick and some of the guys had already showed up. Clearly, some of them either never had any intention of taking the contest seriously or were so drunk they couldn't tell they had arrived with women that were very attractive.
The originator of the pool was sitting confidently with his 'entry', alone at a table so as not to give away the contest. She looked all the world like Secretariat. And the side bets favored him by a two to one margin. The place was kicking with the anticipation of the event, the strippers, the beer and just being in port. Just as the clock was striking 1600 the front door to the 'club' was kicked open and walking in backwards was the dwarf!? What the? He had something in front of him... the sun was really brite.. it was a wheel chair! As he turned around the wind was sucked out of every self respecting sailor in the place. He had gone to the hospital and offered an afternoon out to a ambulatory resident paraplegic! The entire room fell silent as everyone looked in amazement at the dwarf and his 'date'. The callousness and bizarity was unparalleled in the history of Submarine depths. We had a winner! Despite the depravity of the entire event the cat was never let out of the bag and everyone enjoyed themselves until it was time to return to the ship.. or where ever they went to. I learned allot about myself, what I'm willing to do, participate in, condone and what I should be appalled at that night. Only one of the 'contestants' ever found out about the contest and she was furious. I can't remember when I ever saw a woman more angry even though I've had almost thirty years to look. She happened to be one of the most beautiful women there that evening. I suppose she was offended at the prospect of being thought of as a mutt by her 'date'. Instead of looking around and figuring that someone’s perspective was skewed, slightly, for what ever reason. Her sponsor was horrified when she made a stink and slapped him, stomping out never to be seen again by anyone there that night. In any event, the dwarf won hands down in a contest I thought surely would yield at least a little competition. To the courage of that fearless crew, I drink. May I never be required to prove myself under such conditions.
As a safety measure due to the extremely poor taste of this story the names of the guilty have been left out to protect them from serious retribution.
As any Submarine sailor knows, only too well, good taste is not a requirement for Sub duty. Actually, an occasional swerve into the truly cruel and exotic are not uncommon at all.
Such was the birth of the pool begun two days before we pulled into port in Jacksonville FLA. During the famous 'flex-ops' for boomers late in the '70's. Ten dollars got you in. Your job? Find the ugliest woman you could with in eight hours of the commencement of liberty and return with her to the Peppermint Lounge near the base gate by 1600hrs. The Peppermint lounge was known for it's line of male entertainment better understood as strippers. The originator of the pool was familiar with the area as his wife and her family were locals. Mind you, he was 100% faithful to her as far as I know, even under circumstances I thought were outside the realm of self restraint. He had his strategy all lined up, though and it was TOP SECRET. Another in my division was in the pool and he, known as the dwarf for reasons other than his height, had his own strategy. In any event it was sure to be a contest you didn't want to miss as the competitive spirit overtook the entire liberty section.
Many who entered the pool never showed up despite the anti, and the pool approached $100.00 Which equates to a lot of drunken sailors. We all hit the beach with the usual gusto and wasted no time in getting right down to the business at hand, getting a buzz worthy of a Submarine sailor. By about 1400hrs. it was time for the serious pool competition to begin his return strategy. How to get his particular contestant back to the site of the event of the day. The dwarf never let on that he was in any way concerned about his 'contestants' where about or how he would get her to the Peppermint Lounge. Others, I am told, fretted about this from about ten o'clock until the cab door opened in front of the club. About 1400 though he looks at me and says I think I'll go to the hospital, I'll see ya' later. With a question that belied my confusion on my face, he left.
1600hrs was rolling up pretty quick and some of the guys had already showed up. Clearly, some of them either never had any intention of taking the contest seriously or were so drunk they couldn't tell they had arrived with women that were very attractive.
The originator of the pool was sitting confidently with his 'entry', alone at a table so as not to give away the contest. She looked all the world like Secretariat. And the side bets favored him by a two to one margin. The place was kicking with the anticipation of the event, the strippers, the beer and just being in port. Just as the clock was striking 1600 the front door to the 'club' was kicked open and walking in backwards was the dwarf!? What the? He had something in front of him... the sun was really brite.. it was a wheel chair! As he turned around the wind was sucked out of every self respecting sailor in the place. He had gone to the hospital and offered an afternoon out to a ambulatory resident paraplegic! The entire room fell silent as everyone looked in amazement at the dwarf and his 'date'. The callousness and bizarity was unparalleled in the history of Submarine depths. We had a winner! Despite the depravity of the entire event the cat was never let out of the bag and everyone enjoyed themselves until it was time to return to the ship.. or where ever they went to. I learned allot about myself, what I'm willing to do, participate in, condone and what I should be appalled at that night. Only one of the 'contestants' ever found out about the contest and she was furious. I can't remember when I ever saw a woman more angry even though I've had almost thirty years to look. She happened to be one of the most beautiful women there that evening. I suppose she was offended at the prospect of being thought of as a mutt by her 'date'. Instead of looking around and figuring that someone’s perspective was skewed, slightly, for what ever reason. Her sponsor was horrified when she made a stink and slapped him, stomping out never to be seen again by anyone there that night. In any event, the dwarf won hands down in a contest I thought surely would yield at least a little competition. To the courage of that fearless crew, I drink. May I never be required to prove myself under such conditions.
At Sea running hot straight and normal
At Sea on patrol in the med can be very boring. And in fact it was on several patrols I made from Rota Spain back in the early '70's.
The med being relatively small with considerable surface traffic, not to mention submarine traffic, is not the most forgiving place to make a mistake.
Dozens of surface contacts are encountered and tracked everyday. By the end of patrol many hundreds or even thousands of surface contacts have been logged tracked identified and maybe even had the opportunity to be visually identified.
We had been at sea for some six weeks and patrol routine was the only comfort in the minds of most of the crew.
It was after the evening meal and the movie was in the middle of the second reel in the crews mess.
The crew making its usual comments and laughing during the movie. There was a lull in the action and one of the Nukes asked "what is that noise?" Most of us couldn't hear it. A few moments pass and again he asks "don't you hear that?" The projector was stopped and we all listened... above the noise of the ventilation system and the fan room outside the mess... then there it was... a steady rhythmic thump thump thump."Oh SHIT!" He yelled. Everyone ran to their battle stations as fast as we could... seconds later the collision alarm went off. The entire boat shook violently as a close call with a fully loaded vessel that drafted very deep, some thing we call a ‘screamer’, for obvious reasons. We never actually collided but the vibrations from the screw were very strong, the noise was surprising and then... nothing...
As we secured from battle stations we all looked at each other and several of us went up to sonar to comfort the deaf sonar technician that almost killed the entire crew single handedly.
He was in the process of being relieved under orders of the OOD.
It wasn't long and we were back into the routine of patrol.
Finally, the only watch everyone looks forward to at sea, the maneuvering watch, was set.
In Rota Spain, the maneuvering watch is very short. As we all ran topside to get her rigged someone noticed a peculiar pattern of markings on the missile deck running at an acute angle to the fore-aft axis. About three inches wide at its widest and about three feet long with a spacing between them of several inches. The paint had been removed right down to the metal!
The only thing we could figure was... you guessed it, that screamer was A LOT closer than we had originally thought!!
Despite the time crunch three of us took a moment and thanked God for seeing his way clear to look out for a bunch of sailors in a hole in the ocean.
Newport News Ship Building and Dry Dock Company
Ahhh, Newport News Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company. What a place.
In about 1980, or so, my Naval assignment was to the command of USS Von Steuben SSBN632.
We were to have the reactor refueled and a general refit of the sub to extend it's functional life another 15 years or so. Most of the crew had been reassigned to other commands so as to better serve the US Navy. Those such as myself, who had less than a full patrol left after the yard work were sent to the yards to complete their tours as systems experts liaisons with the various shipyard trades who would be doing the work. As an E6 with 16 patrols and an A Ganger, I was designated a Section leader and given half of the crew (non-nuke, about 70) to fill the needs of the yard, ship and barge. As the section leader I was tasked with visiting all of the watch stations during the day and at night every two hours to initial logs and relieve the watch for head calls. Cold Virginia nights made the walks over to the dry dock, where the sub was nothing more than a giant sieve with more than 20 holes big enough to walk through, to relieve the watches Topside and Below Decks. As I approached the gangway from the wall of the dry dock I could see the watch was on the Sub side of the Brow. I told him the watch was to be stood over by the land side of the brow, informed him I'd relieve the BDW (below decks watch) first. When I came back up about 30 minutes later he was white as a sheet and shaking badly, as he sucked hard on his cigarette and looked out of the corner of his eye toward the large dumpster near the brow. I asked him what was wrong and he told me there was a rat in that dumpster that came to the top every once in a while and gave him the evil eye, then he would drop back down in the dumpster and root around some more. "He keeps looking at me like he's going to come over and get me.." "..I hate rats, and that one is huge!.." just then the rat came to the top of the dumpster and paused briefly before it leapt from the top and hit the ground, running right at him. We were standing on an aluminum brow just wide enough for two people to turn sideways and pass each other on and about a 50 foot drop to the bottom of the dry dock on either side. The rat came running like he was on a mission and jumped on the leg the Topside watch stander. Now, while we stood these watches armed with a Colt 1911 .45 cal pistol, actually using it was against regulations unless some one was looking to take a submarine or a missile. Neither was the case in this situation and the feeling of protection vanished as he began to understand that I wasn't likely to jump in front of him to save him from attack and that I was blocking his retreat to the missile deck of the sub from the rear. Like the quick thinking farm boy from Kansas that he was he grabbed his night stick and as the rat landed on his leg about mid shin after a leap of what looked like Olympic proportions, he quickly began to beat his lower leg to a bloody pulp, letting out muffled cries of pain from the blows as the rat seemed to duck and bob and weave out of the way of the deadly wooden bat. When it was all over, the rat walked away, looking back over his shoulder as if to say, don't make me come back over there again.
Richard was shaking and had a hard time standing and although this only took about three minutes he had begun to sweat. I didn't even offer to relieve him, he just handed me his gun and stick and left. I have to admit, that was the toughest rat I ever came across in all of my time in the Navy.
We were to have the reactor refueled and a general refit of the sub to extend it's functional life another 15 years or so. Most of the crew had been reassigned to other commands so as to better serve the US Navy. Those such as myself, who had less than a full patrol left after the yard work were sent to the yards to complete their tours as systems experts liaisons with the various shipyard trades who would be doing the work. As an E6 with 16 patrols and an A Ganger, I was designated a Section leader and given half of the crew (non-nuke, about 70) to fill the needs of the yard, ship and barge. As the section leader I was tasked with visiting all of the watch stations during the day and at night every two hours to initial logs and relieve the watch for head calls. Cold Virginia nights made the walks over to the dry dock, where the sub was nothing more than a giant sieve with more than 20 holes big enough to walk through, to relieve the watches Topside and Below Decks. As I approached the gangway from the wall of the dry dock I could see the watch was on the Sub side of the Brow. I told him the watch was to be stood over by the land side of the brow, informed him I'd relieve the BDW (below decks watch) first. When I came back up about 30 minutes later he was white as a sheet and shaking badly, as he sucked hard on his cigarette and looked out of the corner of his eye toward the large dumpster near the brow. I asked him what was wrong and he told me there was a rat in that dumpster that came to the top every once in a while and gave him the evil eye, then he would drop back down in the dumpster and root around some more. "He keeps looking at me like he's going to come over and get me.." "..I hate rats, and that one is huge!.." just then the rat came to the top of the dumpster and paused briefly before it leapt from the top and hit the ground, running right at him. We were standing on an aluminum brow just wide enough for two people to turn sideways and pass each other on and about a 50 foot drop to the bottom of the dry dock on either side. The rat came running like he was on a mission and jumped on the leg the Topside watch stander. Now, while we stood these watches armed with a Colt 1911 .45 cal pistol, actually using it was against regulations unless some one was looking to take a submarine or a missile. Neither was the case in this situation and the feeling of protection vanished as he began to understand that I wasn't likely to jump in front of him to save him from attack and that I was blocking his retreat to the missile deck of the sub from the rear. Like the quick thinking farm boy from Kansas that he was he grabbed his night stick and as the rat landed on his leg about mid shin after a leap of what looked like Olympic proportions, he quickly began to beat his lower leg to a bloody pulp, letting out muffled cries of pain from the blows as the rat seemed to duck and bob and weave out of the way of the deadly wooden bat. When it was all over, the rat walked away, looking back over his shoulder as if to say, don't make me come back over there again.
Richard was shaking and had a hard time standing and although this only took about three minutes he had begun to sweat. I didn't even offer to relieve him, he just handed me his gun and stick and left. I have to admit, that was the toughest rat I ever came across in all of my time in the Navy.
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